Mistake
by childofchild
Summary: Chapter 37! 'Things are not as they should be, Frodo. It's all a big mistake....Everything's messed up and it's all my fault.'--Apryl A tale for those particularly fond of hobbits.
1. To Find Her

            DISCLAIMER: Middle-earth and all of its occupants belong to J. R. R. Tolkien.

            *author's note:  I could slap myself for evening thinking of posting a story so . . . well, _blah!  _It's not that good, and it was really just for my entertainment but I thought 'hey, who knows, might as well!  If there are others out there who might enjoy this then they can have at it.'  If you actually read this, would you mind reviewing for me?  Thanks!

MISTAKE

_"She is dying, Frodo . . ."_

_            "What do you want me to do?"_

_            "Find her . . . save her . . ."_

"What's your name, kid?" the taller of the two demanded, in a not at all polite manner. 

            Frodo fairly glanced at them and continued on his way.

            The shorter one--who was a good head and a half taller than Frodo--glared down at him.  "You new here?"

            Frodo stopped, checked his anger and looked up into the child's eyes.  "Yes," he said shortly.

            "Hey," the taller one laughed.  "What kinda accent is that?"

            "Accent?" Frodo looked from the tall to the short (at least by human standards) and wondered what the human meant.  He wasn't familiar with the word.

            "Where do you come from?" the tall one wanted to know.

            "Shouldn't you boys be in class?"

            The voice caught the two humans by surprise and they both whirled.  Behind them stood a fairly large human man.  He reminded Frodo of a troll, though quite a bit smaller.  The built and all was the same.

            "Get to class," the man demanded and the two boys scurried off.  Frodo watched them go and then turned to follow the path that he saw led to another building.  Maybe she would be there.

            "Skipping class again, Apryl?" the man behind him chuckled and Frodo glanced over his shoulder.  He saw a human girl step from the building nearest him.  Frodo noticed she wore a lot of dark--blue, black, and gray.

            She waved a slip of paper before the troll-like human.  "Got a note, Cost," she grinned.

            He gave her a "sure, whatever you say" look and she just rolled her eyes.  The two fell into step behind Frodo.

            "How's your song coming along?" the man wanted to know.

             "Great," but she didn't sound as if she meant it.  By the child's tone, Frodo could just imagine the scowl on her features.

            "That doesn't sound to reassuring," the man said with a frown.  Frodo had to agree. 

            The girl sighed.  "I've got most the signs down," she said slowly as if recalling just what the problem was.  "It's the smoothness, I guess.  They don't flow with the music very well.  I don't think I'm that coordinated."

            "It just takes practice."

            The girl snorted.

            Frodo opened a door to the building.  Over the door he had noticed a sign, "Temple Tributary Elementary".  _What a mouthful,_ he thought, not understanding a single word.  He pulled the door with a grunt, for it was hard to budge, and he entered in.  Three halls presented themselves: one to his left, right, and straight ahead.

            "See ya, Mr. Cost."

            Frodo turned to the left and waited for both humans to pass him--praying that neither turned in his direction.  Frodo breathed a sigh as the man went straight and the human girl turned right.

            "See you sixth."

            As the man passed out of sight, Frodo watched the girl make her way down the hall.

            _"How will I know her, Gandalf?"_

The girl hesitated in her walk and glanced over her shoulder.  Frodo looked away at the last and stared down at his feet.  He couldn't tell if she had seen him staring at her--and neither did he note that the girl glanced, too, at his feet and noted a few other things without saying a word.  She continued onward.  Within several steps, she turned and opened a side door and entered in.__

_            "She is a contradiction, Frodo.  Whatever is seen on the outside is quite the opposite from the inside.  She hides her heart, for it is different."_

Frodo shook his head.  Gandalf had said she was different, but he hadn't said how.

            _"You must look deeper . . . use the Ring if you must--but _only_ if you must!"_

Frodo walked to the door where she had disappeared within--the shoes upon his feet _clacking_ loudly upon the tiled floor.  His hobbit ears cringed.  The leather was uncomfortable; it cramped his toes.  He saw a window embedded within the door but it was too high.  He growled.  _Curse humans and their forsaken height!_

The elder teacher nodded affirmation as she handed him the pink slip.  Without a glance to the rest of the class, she seated herself at the long table that six of the thirty some odd computers in her Computer Tech. class occupied.  Automatically lowering the chair, she typed in her password and logged on to the standard Microsoft program.  She barely registered the teachers droning voice as she opened a file dated "Nov 5" and scrolled down several pages to where her new story had begun.

            Computer Tech. was a required course for all freshmen but, unfortunately, Apryl had been attending a private school at the time and no such opportunity had presented itself.  When she had started attending Fredtree High during her sophomore year, she hadn't known of any such requirement.  So it wasn't until her junior year that she accepted the class and took it with thirty other some odd freshmen.

            It was an easy course and one that soon bored her to tears.  It wasn't long however, before she found she could finish her assignments in plenty of time to spare and then she could (with skipping the practice lessons) open her own file and write to her hearts content.  Much of her writing time was taken up with about fanciful characters and the like.

            But her fingers remained frozen upon the keyboard and a small figure invaded her thoughts.  The boy had looked an awful lot like . . . he was the perfect height an--even his feet . . .

            She had often walked the halls of school and picked out certain characters that were of the right stature and height and she'd fancy they were someone . . . well, from a different world.  But something was always not right, or some such, and she would have to admit that it was nothing but her over-active imagination trying to bring alive something that could never be.

            "Are we not doing our work for a reason?" a voice behind her asked very loudly and deliberately.  She jumped and instantly the image and thoughts vanished.  She turned to see her instructor glowering behind her and near half the class watching her.

            She mumbled something incoherent and, hunching her shoulders, began to type.  Shaking his head, the man walked away.

            "Asshole," she heard hissed and looked down several seats.  A boy was glaring after the man.  He turned and smiled at her sympathetically and she smiled back.

            "Today's lesson," began the man, "starts on page 268 and ends on page 291 . . ."

            Apryl sighed and flipped the pages of her lesson book.

            The pain in her thigh was worse today and it was a terrible effort not to limp.  She wasn't sure where the pain had come from, for she didn't recall ever wounding it, but--then again--her body had the annoying habit of hurting for no other reason than to, well, annoy her.

            It had always been that way, though--when she thought about it (which she often didn't for it was pointless to dwell on)--she realized the pain seemed to be worsening.

            The crowd was thick and the stench strong.  He couldn't decide if the smell was appetizing or nauseating.  The food was an odd assortment--the strangest to him being the yellow liquid that they poured all over a mixture of meat (he wasn't exactly sure if it _was_ meat) and vegetables.  It seemed to be the prize meal, but Frodo hurriedly decided against it when one young kid tripped and the food fell against the floor with a very un-appetizing splatter.  His Uncle Bilbo had cooked better.

            He meandered around; his large eyes ever open.  He had walked the entire grounds near on four times and--though he had picked out many an odd character--none seemed to "differ" much from the rest.

            Had he not been so bent upon finding the girl, Frodo suspected he would have been truly fascinated by the humans.  When first he had searched the school, he had the odd feeling something was missing and it took him the second round to finally figure out what that was--there was nought but humans.  Not one dwarf or hobbit or elf or orc; just _humans_.  

            _How terribly odd, _he mused.

            But the humans in themselves were fascinating--if not a bit disgusting.  They had the most varying shades of hair color: from white as snow to the green of new grown leaves.  Some even had purple and one child's hair was the very pattern of the rainbow!  Streaked blue and green and red and yellow!  He even pondered for a time if that lass, in particular, was what Gandalf had meant by "different".  The notion was discarded however as their "disgusting" nature fully came into development before his eyes--or ears, as it would turn out.

            Their language was full of insults left and right--half of which he didn't even understand.  The males cursed the females--and the females curse right back.  Frodo was both saddened and sickened, though anger flowed, too, through his veins.

            Apryl made her way to the line and on the way, came across her small friend, Amy.  "Hey," Apryl smiled.

            "How's the nose?" she asked and Apryl blushed.

            "Fine.  I got out in little over an hour ago.  Right after first period."

            Amy's eyes widened so that the green shone in the light.  "An hour?  Ohhh!  Nose bleeds aren't suppose to last that long, are they?"

            Apryl merely shrugged.

            "You know," she said, "you should probably get that checked out.  What, that was the second one this week?"

            "More or less.  I've always had them," she said simply.

            "Mores the reason!"      

            "What are you getting?" Apryl asked, suddenly, looking over at the stacked sub-sandwiches.

            Amy turned and observed them.  "Turkey," she said, and the earlier conversation was dropped.

            His stomach growled and he knew that he had to eat something.  He hadn't eaten since . . . well, before and he was awfully hungry.  He searched around for a bit and finally decided on the line that would get him the least odd of the human's food.  He stepped in the line for the sandwiches and waited impatiently for the line to move toward the little red counter.

            Finally, he stepped forward--and his cheeks burst into flame.  The counter came up to the shoulders of most the humans--it past him up by a head!  He heard some snickering behind him and a jeering "Need a boost, buddy?"

            The lady behind the counter looked as if she were trying not to laugh but she bent over the counter anyhow and handed him a small box that had a curling string running from its back.

            "Type your number in," she said with a twinkle in her eye.

            _Type my number?  What's that mean?  _Frodo looked at the box in great confusion, saw that there were numbers painted on it.  _My years, perhaps?  _Frodo touched a small button with the number "5" scrawled on it and then he pressed the one with a "0".  Then he looked up expectantly at the lady.

            And she looked expectantly at him.

            "Well," she said finally.  "You gonna hit enter?"

            "Hurry up!" came an irritated shout.

            Frodo looked down at the box again until he located a larger button with the word "enter" upon it.  He pressed it.

            The lady sighed.  "Kid, you gotta have four digits."

            Frodo heard snickering from behind him and he felt his cheeks burn bright.

            "Excuse me," an almost hesitant voice broke in.  Frodo looked over to see a young girl--the same girl he had spied earlier, in fact.  What was her name?

            "I'll charge it off my account," she offered and the lunch lady merely shrugged.  Frodo let her take the small box from his grip and she punched in four of the numbers.

            "What do you want?" she turned to him.

            He couldn't see over the counter to tell what there was, but the girl seemed to realize this as soon as she asked her question.

            "The ham and turkey is good," she offered quietly and he nodded without a word--his face was still red and he could feel annoyed eyes upon his back.

            _I miss home._

"Turkey and ham on white," she told the lady and was handed a wrapped sandwich.  She, in turn, handed it to Frodo.

            "T-thanks," he stammered, feeling like a fool.

            "Come on," she said and turned from the crowded counter to an unoccupied corner.  "You're new," she looked him over and he saw her eyes were gray.  

            Frodo nodded and his curls bounced.  A smile tugged at her lips.

            "Would you like to sit with me and my friends?" she asked.

            He nodded, "I'd be honored."

            Her eyes widened slightly, but then she smiled.  "Follow me," and she turned and wound her way through the crowd of laughing and cursing human children.

            If your curious about Apryl's conversation with her teacher—she takes ASL (American Sign Language).  Thanks for your time!  Would you review—criticize as much as you want!^^


	2. To Know Her

            DISCLAIMER:  I do not own Middle-earth, not its characters; Tolkien does.

            *note:   There is about a page and a half addition to the end of this one.  Sorry for the inconvenience but it ends this chapter a lot better.

CH. 2

            How much he looked like one!  She couldn't get it out of her mind, and her pulsed raced so fast that she thought her heart might burst.  It was so fun, imagining that he was.  He had the feet for it, most definitely.  Though he came only a little past her shoulders, his feet were a good size bigger than hers.  It made her laugh to think of it.  And his hair--oh, it was perfect!  Perfect curls that framed his smooth boyish features and which were so out of place among the common style all her male classmates took.  But what caught and held her attention the most was his height, for he was so small!  Apryl had always been fond of short people (she, herself, was average at about 5' 4") though she had not a clue why.  Perhaps it was because her whole family was on the tallish side (her mother was 5' 9" and her younger sister by three years, was the same height as Apryl).

            She led Frodo to the end of a long cafeteria table, where four other girls sat.  Amy was already there, talking with a short blonde and sitting across from a tall, lean brown-haired girl who talked with a darker-skinned girl.  Apryl seated herself and offered Frodo a stool right beside her.  

            The girl's conversation ceased and they stared--wide-eyed--at Frodo.

            Apryl seemed not to notice.

            "These are my friends," Apryl offered, as a way of an introduction.  She waved at the short blonde, "Christy," then pointed at Amy, "Amy," she gestured at the dark-skinned girl, "Danielle," and she pointed at the tall brunette, "Rebecca."

            Frodo dipped his head.  Rebecca's brow furrowed at this and she looked sideways at Danielle, but neither commented.

            "Hey," Amy said, all bubbles.  "What's your name?"

            Frodo glanced sideways at Apryl and spied her watching him expectantly.  _She acts as if she recognizes me.  But that's impossible._

"I haven't seen you around before, are you new?  How do you know Apryl?"

            _Apryl!  That's her name._

Frodo was both glad for that information and the fact that Amy seemed to be disinterested in his name.  He saw that Apryl was scowling at her friend, but Amy seemed not to notice, or if she did, she didn't mind in the least.  

            "Is it hard to move into a school so late in the year?" Amy asked curiously, but gave him no time to answer.  "A lot of kids seem to think so.  I've only moved once in my entire life and that was only two houses down from where I lived before, so I didn't really have to change schools or anything but it was still hard--emotionally, I mean."  

            Apryl rolled her eyes and Rebecca and Danielle giggled.  Frodo glanced over at Apryl, saw her unstick a clear piece of material from the sandwich's wrapping.  He followed her example.

            "Apryl's moving in a month, though," Amy seemed to recall.

            Rebecca frowned at her and Amy quieted.  

            "What did you say your name was?" Rebecca asked.

            Frodo hurriedly bit into his sandwich.  Apryl stiffened at Rebecca's question but purposely kept her eyes away from Frodo's.  _He suspects something._

Frodo watched her from the corner of his eye and he instantly noted her tenseness.  _She knows something._

He slowly chewed his food while Rebecca waited for his reply.  _A name!  But I know none that are of this world!  _Mentally, he cursed.

            "He never called me last night," Amy whined and Rebecca looked over at her.

            "Who?"

            "Jeremiah," she pouted.

            "He was with Caitlyn," she said.

            Amy frowned.  "Why?"

            Rebecca shrugged, disinterested and she turned back to the boy.  "So, you have a name or not?"

            Next to him, Apryl squeezed her eyes shut.  _Frodo, Bilbo, Pippin, Merry, Sam, _she wished.  _Any will do, any will do._

 Frodo swallowed.  He looked around at all the girls.  Then slowly, hesitantly, he drew a breath and--

            "No, Elijah, not today.  If I can get away tomorrow . . ."

            A young man and woman walked behind them, brushed by, and continued on.

            "Elijah!" Frodo gasped breathlessly, before he could change his mind.  "My name is Elijah."

            Apryl's eyes widened and then narrowed suspiciously, but she made no words of protest.

            A bell rang and Frodo jumped.

            Rebecca and Danielle jumped up at once.  "Bye," they said hurriedly and--tossing their uneaten food in the nearest trash--they left.  Amy shoved the rest of her food in her mouth, mumbled, "See ya" and left.  Christy picked her things up, smiled and waved at Apryl, then made her way through the sudden flood of kids.

            "What was that bell?"

            Apyrl peered at Frodo.  "The bell that tells us lunch is over," she told him, without any sarcasm.  Frodo felt that he should have known that and was glad for her not pointing out that he had once again been a fool.

            "Are you going to go to class?" he asked her, seeing that she wasn't moving.

            "Yeah," she took another bite of her sandwich.  "My class is not twenty paces away."

            He nodded but looked mournfully at his, for the most part, uneaten sandwich.  It seemed all the humans were throwing their food away and he was still awfully hungry.  He wondered how the humans survived on such limited eating time--not to mention limited food and choices of.

            "If eat it on your way to class, you could probably finish it," Apryl suggested, noting the forlorn gaze.

            He nodded and took up the sandwich.  "Thanks," he said with a smile.

            "It was no big deal," she smiled back.  She went for another bite but suddenly grimaced and clutched her stomach.  Her face twisted into pain.

            "Are you alright?"  Frodo reached out to her but she stood and backed away from him.

            "Fine," she gasped, her face pale.  

            Frodo looked at her doubtfully but he didn't want her to do that again--he didn't want her to back away like he was some horrible orc.  He'd only wanted to comfort her--to see if she was well.  That's all.

            She forced a smile and tossed the sandwich into the garbage.  "The foods not so agreeable sometimes," she said.  But the distress on his face didn't vanish.  She fidgeted with the strap on her bag.

            "I-uh, better get to class," she waved down the hall.  "I guess I'll see you around, . . . Elijah, was it?

            He nodded.

            "Elijah," she said, as if testing the name on her tongue and then--finding it satisfactory--she smiled.  "I'll see you around."

            "Yeah," he said and she turned.  _But not if I find her._

_            If not enough things are happening to me today, my gut has to act up too.  _The pain had been sharp and quick, but painful enough.  She could of sworn that an invisible knife had plunged itself into her gut and then been pulled out again.  But it was her imagination she had to admit, though the pain was real enough.

            What she regretted most though, was the hurt-filled look Elijah (she sighed mournfully, _not Frodo_) had given her when she had backed away from his touch.  That was ten times worse than the stabbing pain in her gut.

            _I didn't mean to hurt you, _she said to herself; wished she could say it to him.  _It's just . . . just that I can't . . . I can't let you touch me.  _She fought the tears.

            _If you knew me, you wouldn't want to._

            _There are just too many!  I will never find her--not in time!  _Frodo sat upon a bench beneath a tired old willow, its leaves rustling in the soft breeze.  His head was in his hands and his mood was as bleak as the gray sky.  Light drops of rain were beginning to fall down from rumbling clouds.

            _I wish Gandalf were here.  He _should_ be here, not I.  He is the wizard, and I am but the hobbit._

_            "You cannot send _him_.  The knife wound has not been healed a week.  Surely, Gandalf, there is another.  I will go if no one else will.  Let him rest!"_

_            "He has the power upon his finger and though I am loath to use it, it is the only way.  None may wield that Ring save Sauron, but mayhap he may use its power.  But none other than the Ring-Bearer, Meriadoc!  Perhaps, I might make the journey there without the Rings aid, and then perhaps I might not.  If Frodo goes, he will both have the Ring and I guiding him.  He is the one."_

Frodo shook his head.  I am _not _the one.  You are, Gandalf.  I shouldn't have accepted this, for I will fail.  I _have _failed.  But I was a fool and had agreed to take the task.__

_            "Tell me what to do, Gandalf."_

The rain came down in sheets.

            _I am a fool._

"Shouldn't you be in class?"

            Frodo looked up.

            Apryl stood beneath a dry overhang.

            "It's raining," she pointed out.  Frodo wanted to laugh bitterly but he didn't have the strength.

            "Aye," he said simply.

            "Why aren't you in class?"

            Frodo shrugged.  "Why aren't you?"

            She held up a pink slip and grinned.  "I have a note."

            "You have a store of those in your bag?" he wanted to know.

            Her eye twinkled and Frodo was suddenly reminded of Gandalf.  "Maybe," she said.  

            _She has much happiness and joy in her_, Frodo suddenly mused and his eyes fell to her somber clothes.  Frodo frowned.  Her black jacket hung large on her frame, almost completely covering her gray shirt and making it almost impossible to tell how thin she was.  Her pants were dark blue--a thick material--and very affective at hiding any curves.  _Its as if she's hiding, _Frodo thought.  _The colors are dark, but not so dark as to be noticeably so.  _He had seen many humans today who had dressed in nought but black--some girls even had black painted on their lips--but they seemed to dress so to _be _noticed, not to go _un_noticed.

            He shivered.  The rain was pouring down his back and his curls were plastered to his forehead.

            "Well, I'm going to class," Apryl said when Frodo made no attempt to talk, "Even if your not."  She made as if to go but then turned.  "If you'd like better company than the rain, you could walk with me."  Her suggestion was so soft and hesitant that Frodo almost missed it.

            _The rain _is_ ill company._

He stood and her eyes brightened.

            "What's your class?" he asked as she pulled the door open and the two scrambled in.

            She made a face, "Sign language."

            Frodo had no idea what that was.  He followed her until she came to another set of doors.  Beyond them, the rain fell in torrents.

            "I thought . . ."

            She grinned down at him.  "I didn't say I'd be your only company."  She opened the door and stepped out into the rain.  She was soaked within a moment. "The rain is a lonely sort."  She laughed and spun.  "It loves companionship and I shan't be the one to disappoint it!" 

            Frodo laughed and ran out to join her.

            She pulled the door open even as she stifled her laughter.  Frodo came in behind her and shook his head of curls; water went everywhere.

            "I've never seen so much water!" he exclaimed, staring wide-eyed at the pouring rain.

            "It'll let up soon," she said, following his gaze.  "This is rare, even for Washington."  She looked at him and laughed.  "Your soaked!"

            He turned to her.  "And you have room to talk?  I think not."

            Her dark brown hair hung limp, the ends slightly curling.  Her clothes were drenched and she frowned at the sight she must look.

            "It's not fair," she said then, her gray eyes suddenly twinkling.  "The water takes too long to hit you because you're so close to the ground.  I'm sure I got twice as soaked twice as fast."

            Frodo looked at her incredulously.  Then he burst out laughing, "Serves you right for being so cruel!"

            She smiled and after a moment said, "I better get to class.  Mr. Cost always has a fit when I'm late."  She frowned suddenly.

            "What is it?" Frodo asked worriedly.

            "I forgot," she said softly and Frodo thought he detected fear in her eyes.

            He took a step toward her then halted, fearing that fear might be directed at him . . . like before.  "What's wrong, Apryl."

            She sighed.  "I have to sign in front of the class today," she said.  "All of us do.  I-I studied, but . . ." she shook her head.  "I hate getting in front of everyone."

            Frodo understood her qualms.  He remembered when he had been a lad and been forced to speak in front of his cousins at Brandy Hall.  He had always found that when he fiddled with something in his pocket it helped him concentrate.  He might have suggested this to her, but he had slipped his hands inside his own pocket and his finger brushed up against a hard and cold metal.  _The Ring._

_            " . . . Use the Ring if you must--but _only_ if you must!"_

The words of Gandalf came back to Frodo.

            "Well, anyway, I had fun singing in the rain with you, Elijah," Apryl said with a grin.

            Frodo looked at her and frowned.  "But we didn't sing," he said in confusion.

            She smiled.  "Never mind.  Dancing, then?"

            He grinned.  "Aye, that we did."

            "Bye," she waved, "Wish me luck."  She turned and went down the very hall she had gone that morning, after spying Frodo watching her and musing what a fine hobbit he would make.

            "Good luck," he called and she dimpled at him before disappearing into a doorway.

            He felt the Ring's cool metal between his fingers and he whispered to no one at all, "Perhaps . . ."  And Apryl was still on his mind.

            "Apryl," said her teacher and she felt her cheeks burn red.  She hadn't even stepped up in front of the class--indeed, hadn't even rose from her seat--and still her face was as red as ever.

            She stood and made her way in front of the class, so nervous that she didn't even note her friend Tammie nor Elizabeth or Jamie wave their hands in the air to urge her on.  She stood in front of the class, as stiff as a board and she looked over at her teacher, Mr. Cost.

            "Silent or sung?" he asked, a clipboard held in one hand, a pen in the other.  

            "Sung," she said and several of her classmates snickered.  Apryl tried not to smile but the effort was in vain.  Cost glared at the girls and they shushed.  He turned back to Apryl.

            "Alright," he said and she nodded.  "One, Two, Three," and he began to sing.  His voice was deep and not so bad as his appearance would suggest; indeed, it was quite good.

            Apryl's hands began to flow in the beautiful language of the deaf.

            The words came to her mind a split second before they escaped her teacher's mouth, allowing her just enough time to keep the signs and music flowing together.

            _Cannot be too soon.  Cannot be too late._

She kept her eyes leveled past Mr. Cost's head--safely away from any direct eye contact.  She had to constantly think of the signs and nothing else, otherwise she would loose her nerve and mess up.  _Think of the next sign while doing the immediate one.  Never stop.  Keep it flowing._

            Mr. Cost had reached the mid-point of the song and Apryl's breath came easier.

            _It's down hill from here, _she assured herself.

            The pain came suddenly and without warning.  It flashed across her features, twisting it so fast that none caught it.  Her concentration was shattered and her rhythm destroyed.Her hands faltered.

            His eyes were wide as he saw her, for she was transparent--ghostlike.

            Frodo watched from the back of the room, the Ring glinting golden upon his index finger.    Apryl's hands weaved in a language Frodo had never known, in a pattern and way that he thought fit for an Elven queen.  All before him, the humans watched her--and through Frodo's eyes they were shadowy figures.  They were as dull and as ghastly as the Ringwraiths had been, when Frodo had slipped the Ring on at Weathertop.  He could make out little of them except for their shapes and their movements--in that way, the Ring's "sight" was the same.  But Apryl was different.  She was a ghost . . . white, transparent . . . fading.

            _Is this what Gandalf meant by different? _Frodo asked himself, his blue eyes locked upon the lone girl._  Is this what he meant when he told me to use the Ring?_

And then her hands faltered and she flickered into nothingness.

            "Apryl!"

            Her insides were being torn apart--being ripped and raved by unseen claws.  She opened her mouth to scream but no breath came to her lungs.  Her gray eyes widened into a pool of horror and disbelief.  Her fingers clawed at her throat even as her legs collapsed beneath her and she fell to the cool tiled floor to writhe and thrash.  Her mind screamed for air and her body screamed in pain.

            She was dying--her time on earth had come to an end.

            He shoved his way through the screaming children and it seemed, to the naked eye, that some unseen force was making its way through the panicked humans--and indeed that _was_ the case, for Frodo still bore the Ring.  He had forgotten it as soon as her hands had stilled in mid-air and her round face had twisted in pain.  He had forgotten _everything_ when her legs had ceased their support and she had collapsed to the floor.

            The girls had shrieked in horror and the teacher had sat there as if stricken.  By the time Frodo had made it half way across the room, the other children had already crowded around her and the man had shaken from his stupor and ordered a child for help.

            She never screamed, nor gasped nor cried out and it wasn't until he reached her, saw her on the floor, that he realized why.

            "She's not breathing!" one of the children cried. 

"Get _back!_" the man barked and most of them obeyed.  But not Frodo.

            _You are a fool! _he told himself.  _She _is_ the _one_!  _Frightened, he knelt beside her.  Apryl had ceased her struggles but lay shuddering instead, her face as pale as death.  He reached out to her, clasped her hand in his and squeezed it.  "Apryl!" he gasped.

            Her frightened eyes searched for the quite hiss and sudden, unexpected touch.  She saw naught though, for the Ring hid Frodo.  With realization and a silent curse, he slipped it from his finger and he once again became visible.

            Behind him, the humans gasped.

            But Apryl smiled.  Despite the pain and the lack of breath, she beamed at the frightened hobbit that knelt before her and slowly--at her side so that Frodo almost didn't see--her hand moved to from words or phrases he did not understand.

            She smiled again and her eyes fluttered shut.

            Behind Frodo, in a shaky voice, the man murmured, "Hobbit" and the room was deathly still.

            Review for me, please! ^^thanks for reading!


	3. To Save Her

            Disclaimer:  Tolkien's world, characters, ect.; not mine.

            First of all, I would like to ask forgiveness for taking so horribly long to post this—I bow my head in shame.  Secondly, I would like to make aware the haphazard way this fic is written.  It breaks often—either to signify a different time or, more often than not, another's perspective.  Sometimes it gets even more confusing in that the following segment can actually take place before the one following, either that or both are happening at the same time.  Don't feel bad if you get thoroughly confused, though, cause the time frame really doesn't matter all that much.  And, thirdly—there was a third thing wasn't there?—ah, yes.  Some technical things may be misplaced, some time periods might not match Tolkien's too well, and if that happens let me know, for I might either have a very good explanation for it or didn't catch it at all and would like to go back and fix it.  My long-winded self is finally done.  Thanx, all.

Ch. 3

TO SAVE HER

_"You must find her soon, Frodo.  The trip from one world to the next is not easy.  If she is too far gone it could very well kill her."_

_            But she is__ gone!  He looked down at her still form and pale face.  __Earth has taken her.  I was blind!  Foolishly blind!  Tears threatened but he refused them.  He would not weep in a world that was so bitter that it took the innocent for no reason that he could see.  She was a dead thing in his arms.  A dead weight that he couldn't seem to relax his grip on._

            _"She is dying, Frodo . . ."_

            Sudden resolve hardened his features.  He grabbed the Ring in his right hand and clasped Apryl's left hand with it.  It was cold between them, so cold that it seemed the child's hands were warm again.  He tightened his grip on her lifeless fingers and closed his eyes against the staring faces all around him.

            "I'm ready, Gandalf," he gritted.

            _Please don't let her die.  He pulled her close, and held her tight.  ___

_            As quite as the wind, words floated to his ears alone.  They whispered soothingly, "Come home."_

            And the world exploded.__

*     *     *     *     *

            Peregrin Took was as anxious as any of them.  His mind was reeling with what had happened in the last two days, and his thoughts were constantly focused on his Cousin Frodo.  He wondered at Gandalf's motives for finding the human child and bringing her to Middle-earth, but he had been as tight-mouthed as ever about the reasoning.  All he would say was that she would die.  

            But didn't millions of children die every day?  What was this one girl, to any of them?

            Gandalf had become extremely dower after merely several hours of Frodo's mission.  "Shouldn't take this long," he had muttered, "Not this long."

            Pippin had found both his mouth and legs as anxious as his mind.  He couldn't sit still nor seem to still his tongue.  He'd rattle off things before he thought, and most had not been the greatest of things to say in the circumstances, for Gandalf had roared ceaslessly at him until he could stand no more and told Pippin to take a walk.

            "I'm not taking a walk," Pippin had said boldly.  "If Merry and Sam can stay, so can I."  Meriadoc shook his head at his cousin but Pippin pretended not to see.  Samwise merely glowered.

            "Meriadoc and Samwise do not have the misfortune of being a Took," Gandalf had gnashed his teeth.  "Go, Pippin."

            Pippin crossed his arms over his thin frame, "I'll not--"

            "You _will!" Gandalf roared, rising to his full height and causing all hobbits to cringe away.  "__NOW!"_

            Pippin had scurried from the room like a little mouse and, upon reflection, like a craven.  Afterwards, the small hobbit was more curious than ever at the significance of the girl, for Pippin had never seen the wizard explode like that.  It had shaken him badly.

            "What could Gandalf possibly want with a human child from a world not our own--a time not our own," he mused as he left Elrond's house to walk upon the beautiful grounds beyond the structure.  "I hope Frodo's well," he said a moment later.

            His cousin had barely recovered from the wound the Ringwraiths had given him.  The Elf lords and Gandalf himself had asked Frodo for help and Frodo had agreed, though reluctantly.  Sam had argued vehemently for his master's sake and even Merry had been against the whole idea.

             "You cannot send him," Merry had argued, after resting a hand on Sam's shoulder.  The gardener was near to bursting from rage.  "The knife wound has not been healed a week.  Surely, Gandalf, there is another."  He had looked around at all those that stood about them: Elf lords, men, dwarves, the hobbits.  Pippin had seen that they all seemed willing to take this burden from Frodo.  "I will go if no one else will.  Let him rest!"  Merry had pleaded but it had been to no avail.  It seemed Frodo was the only one, and their could be no debating the matter.

            Pippin walked beneath the cool shade of several large trees.  The air was crisp and it reminded him of an early winter.  The day was bright and any and all evil shadows seemed miles upon miles away.  The tiring journey from the Shire seemed ages agone and the young hobbit found his hairy feet itching for adventure.  The journey from his small home had been exciting and all, especially with the addition of the Black Riders (though at the time he hadn't possessed such cheery thoughts, it being uncertain whether he or his comrades would come from that ordeal unscathed--indeed, even alive), but Pippin wasn't so sure it was all suppose to end like this.  Sam and the others did though, Pippin knew, and he was certain Frodo held similar speculations.  

            He wondered if his cousin planed on staying here with Bilbo when the others grew tired of Rivendell (though Pippin couldn't imagine ever growing tired of the beautiful and enchanting home of the elves) and if Merry would return to the Shire.  Pippin imagined so, and Sam would probably go with him.  It saddened him, to think that Merry would return home when Pippin was . . . was so unsure of what he wanted to do. 

            The two had always been inseperatble.

            All these thoughts vanished in an instant.  A roaring inferno of fire and ice, wind and rain, and noise that his sharp hobbit ears could not stand, engulfed his small form and knocked him to his back with a cry filled more with surprise than pain. 

            Everywhere was chaos.  His skin suddenly burned and and then chilled, as if the two elements were one and the same.  Light exploded around him so that he could not see and found everywhere was black as the pitch from trees.

            And as suddenly as it began, everything ceased.  The wind, heat, rain, the tornado of noice--everything stopped.

            Peregrin lay on his back, gasping.  He didn't dare move, for fear it would start up again, but after several moments Pippin turned over slowly so that he might lay on his stomach.  But before he could, before he could even get to his side, his mouth opened into a silent scream.  His body was now the inferno.

            "Merry!" he hissed painfully and then his eyes rolled up into his head, and darkness came.

            Meriadoc Brandybuck watched his cousin go with a shake of his head.  He had almost laughed at Pippin's defiance but that had fled at Gandalf's outburst.  He had never seen the wizard so upset and his face paled at the scowl on the old man's face.

            "Fool of a Took," Gandalf growled menacingly as Pippin disappeared from sight.

            Bilbo eyed the wizard.  "Was that truly necassary?"

            "Is _he necassary?" Gandalf demanded irritably.  He began to pace._

            Bilbo glanced at Sam and Merry and gave them an apologetic look.

            "Mayhap I should go after him," Merry suggestly meekly as Gandalf turned his back to the hobbits.

            Bilbo patted him reasurringly on the hand.  "Pippin will be alright," Bilbo assured him.  "Gandalf had the right of it; I think all the lad needed was a breath of fresh air.  He has been cramped up in here for many hours.  Indeed, we all have!"  He looked over at the wizard.  "I believe it is tea time.  I don't see any reason why us hobbits should remain."

            "Yes, yes," Gandalf waved his hand and the hobbits got to their feet.

            "Won't you come, Gandalf?" Bilbo asked.

            The wizard shook his head.  "No, I must listen for him . . ." he murmured, "Any time now . . . any time."

            Bilbo watched Gandalf for a moment frowning.  "Very well," he said finally and turned to a large door leading from the room.  "Come along, lads," Bilbo said and Sam and Merry began to follow.

            At that moment however, a soft breeze came through the door and flew through the elder hobbit's greying curls.  And with it, a voice was heard:

            "I'm ready, Gandalf."  The wind whispered urgently.

            Gandalf jerked around, his grey robes billowing.  His staff flashed white and words that Merry did not understand escaped the old wizard.  Suddenly, and without warning, a fierce wind burst from seemingly nowhere and the room was filled with _everything--a roaring inferno engulfed them._

            Merry brought his hands before his face, crying out in alarm.  He heard shouting, but the words were swallowed, uncomprehendable.  He felt someone reach out for him and grasp his hand, and he held it tightly in turn.

            And then it died--It was suddenly gone.

            Merry blinked and looked about him; the room was in scatters.  Samwise stood beside him shaking, his hand holding deathly tight to Merry.  He gave Sam a shaky smile and squeezed his hand.  Sam licked his lips but could not return the smile.  Bilbo, who had falled to his hands and knees, got shakingly to his feet.

            Merry saw Gandalf standing in the center of the room, his large robes hanging limply over him.  The wizards face was pale.  "Come home," he said hoarsely, and he slipped to the floor, lifeless.

            At first, the sight before him did not seem to register in his startled mind.  He heard shouting behind him and felt large hands shove him gently to the side.  Aragorn ran in, knelt beside the wizard.  "Gandalf," the Ranger called to the unconscious man but he recieved no reply.  "Gandalf!"

            Aragorn looked to the hobbits as more men and elves burst into the room.  It was all a chatter, all a bunch of noise that seemed to Merry to come from far away.

            "What happened?" Aragorn demanded.

            Sam began to stammer and sputter, his wide brown eyes fixed in horrible fascination upon the fallen Gandalf.  Bilbo couldn't answer, his mind was at a standstill.

            Aragorn turned to Merry.  "What _happened!?" _

            "I--he," Merry opened his mouth but little would come out.  

            _Merry!_

            He stopped and his eyes widened.  "Pippin!" he gasped.  And he turned and fled.  

            "Pippin?  Merry!  No, wait!" Aragorn called and elven hands reached out to stop the fleeing hobbit.  But Merry was too small, too fast.  Aragorn cursed and went after the hobbit himself, yelling orders behind him to care after the wizard.

             Merry ran from the home and was upon the lawn in a matter of seconds.  Something had gone terribly wrong, he knew.  When Gandalf had sent Frodo away there had been no wind, no light, nothing.  He had simply vanished--like he had slipped on the Ring, though the others knew it was not so, for the Ring had still been about his neck on the chain.  This time, though, this time . . . .

            Aragorn saw the hobbit run down the path and disappear into the lightly wooded garden surrounding the Elrond's house.  He didn't understand what had happened but he laid the blame at the feet of Frodo's foolish quest.  From the start he had begged Gandalf not to proceed with his crazy scheme but, as always, the wizard had not heeded his warning.  And now his friend laid on a floor and for all Aragorn knew he was dying.  He wasn't dead, Aragorn had made certain of that.  But he didn't know the condition of his old friend.  _Couldn't know until he learned what in the gods name had happened in that room._

            "Merry!" he cried out, hoping the hobbit would pause and give him a chance to catch up.  He had no such luck, however, as Merry seemed not to hear the Ranger at all.  The hobbit was surprisingly fast for one of his stature.  

            When finally the Ranger caught up with the hobbit, he found the halfling knelt, holding a small form.  It was Pippin.  

            Merry looked up as Aragorn approached and he saw the hobbit had tears in his eyes.

            "What's happened to them, Aragorn?" Merry sobbed.  Lying sprawled on the grass near at hand, was a human child who, at first glance, seemed unhurt but merely unconscious.  Next to her, lay Frodo, who's hair and clothing were scorched.  Aragorn looked down at Pippin and saw that his clothes, also, seemed to be touched by fire and his dark hair was singed at the ends.  But Pippin's face was burnt red and blistered.  

            Aragorn hardly registered any of the small hobbit's appearance, though, for when he looked closely he saw that Pippin wasn't breathing.

*****

*sniff* poor pip!  I think I'm gonna cwy.  Review for me.


	4. To Lose Her

            Disclaimer:            Tolkien's work is his own; never mine.

Ch. 4

TO LOSE HER

            Corryn and Jerrylin were seated together, as always, upon the school bus.  No one seated around them made nearly as much noise as they did and whenever Corryn glance up to see the reflection of the bus driver in the mirror, always there was a scowl on the lady's face.  Corryn smiled innocently and then would burst out laughing, as Jerry would usually make some off-the-wall, not-so-nice comment.

            This was there typical day, and as they were only in the eighth grade--and best friends at that--the looks they received from surrounding schoolmates affected them not in the least.  They would roar in laughter--not giggle.  They chattered openly--not whispered behind their hands.  They talked about TV, the latest movies--not boys.  They would sit and draw and write for hours--not talk on the phone.  They were quite different, and they didn't mind in the least.  In fact, they wouldn't have had it any other way.

            Corryn glanced out the window as the bus pulled up to the high school.  Her sister would be out there, and it was just habit to seek her out.  She was odd, her sister, in that she was already a junior and yet still she preferred the bus.  Her driving career was slow to coming and by no ones fault but her own.  She seemed reluctant and distasteful of vehicles--in Corryn's mind, Apryl was just crazy.  If it had been her, she would have had her license the day after graduating Drivers Ed.

            "What's going on?" Jerry wondered aloud, even as Corryn wondered the same.  There were two fire trucks and three ambulances parked in front of the building, blocking the bus' way.

            The school bus slowed down and stopped a good ways before the building.  A fireman, spotting the vehicle, raced across the asphalt, waving at the bus driver to role her window down.

            "I am going to need you to move the bus to the other building ma'am," the man said, "Your students should already be there."

            "Hey!"  One of the students had clicked his window down several notches.  "What happened?  Was there a fire?"

            "A bomb threat, we think, kid," the man said, but he would say no more.

            The students chattered wildly as the bus pulled away.

            "A bomb!" one small redhead exclaimed.

            "Probably just another toilet-shooting," one girl sneered.  "Some guys can be so immature."

            "I wonder if anyone got hurt," a tall boy with glasses mused.

            "Alright, alright," the bus driver's voice came over the intercom.  "Settle down, please."  It did little good and the lady didn't make much further protest, for she herself was baffled by the news.

            Corryn looked at Jerry, whose eyes were wide.  "Apryl's last class is in that building."

            Jerry shrugged.  "It's probably nothing."

            Corryn was quiet for a moment and then she nodded.  Jerry was probably right.  Suddenly, she grinned.  "Wouldn't it be cool if somebody _did bomb the school?"_

            "I just wish it was our school," Jerry said wistfully and the two laughed.

            Both sobered up pretty quickly, though, when the highschoolers got on the bus.  Corryn looked among the familiar faces fervently.

            Apryl was not among them.

*     *     *     *     *

            She was alone.  She was free, but she was alone.  Constraints that had been placed upon her so long ago were finally cast off.  When she saw him looking at her, before the darkness came, she knew him for what he was.  Not a human, but a hobbit.  A creature she had only read about and never thought to be true.  And yet he was true, and with that realization the final fall of the hammer descended and smote the iron manacles from her wrists.  The chains fell away and the full untamed fury of her power exploded, searing all that stood in her path.

            It frightened her though, and escape was all she sought.  But there was none, and she was alone.

            Then she felt him.  He trailed her and called to her in a soothing, father-like voice.  "Do not be afraid," he told her.  "I have come to take you home."

            She went to him meekly, desperately, for he was all that she had.  The energy around her, _inside her, pulsed and writhed and even as she sought the man, he shied away from her._

            "Control it," he told her.  "The power is yours--you must control it!"

            She didn't understand him and his words frightened her.  Terrified, ashamed, she fled.  Her chaotic, uncontrollable power lashed at all that tried to stop her.  The wizard fell, and the child was exhausted; fearful, but exhausted.

            "Do not do this!"  She heard the frightened plea as if he stood right beside her.  The voice was familiar, and she recognized it as one she could trust.  She could trust him, she knew it.

            "Help me!" she cried.  

            A hand reached out from the nothingness.  She clasped it.

            "I am here," he said, and she never let go.

*     *     *     *     *

            Corryn's heart nearly leapt into her throat when she saw the police cars parked in her driveway.  She didn't walk off the bus, but ran.  She barely registered the odd look the bus driver allowed her after noting the police cars.

            "Mom!" Corryn cried, once she got into the house.  She didn't even bother shutting the door; only let her backpack slip to the floor.  No one answered her, but she knew her mother was there, for she saw her reflection through the glass cabinets on the wall opposite Corryn.

            She never even bothered taking her shoes off.  "Mo--"  Her words strangled in her throat as she turned to enter the kitchen and found two police officers and her mother standing there.  Her mother was crying; her eyes were puffy.

            Corryn burst into tears.

            She lay on her bed staring at the ceiling, going over in her head all that the officer's had told her.  Three students were right now lying in the hospital from savage burns.  Two more were in a coma, and five others were babbling insanely about an angel who had appeared in their midst, gathering her sister in his arms and whooshing her away.  The police told her mother it was a bombing.  A bomb that had taken out both the child who had set is off and her daughter.  What baffled the police the most was that there were no corpses left.  The tall, dark-haired police officer had been surprisingly truthful and said that the whole incident didn't even appear, to him, to be the work of a bomb.  His partner gave him a look that Corryn noted, but her mother did not.

            Corryn didn't understand any of it; only knew that her sister was dead . . . and that was all that mattered.  Tears flooded her eyes.  She blinked and looked over to Apryl's half of the room.  The two had shared a room ever since she could remember, but it wasn't always easy to tell whose side was whose.  Corryn had a bad habit of not cleaning her side--clothes and the like were scattered everywhere.  Apryl could sometimes be in a similar state when she couldn't find the time to clean, but this morning she had gotten up early and had found time, and any could tell two separate people shared the room.

            Corryn caught sight of a yellow piece of paper lying upon a book on Apryl's bed.  Had the room been a mess, then perhaps Corryn wouldn't even have noticed it, for Apryl often left unfinished works or projects she was doing on her bed or dresser or the floor.  This somehow though, seemed out of place.  It looked like a note of some sort.

            Corryn scooped it up and read it.

            _Don't worry.  Apryl's with me.--Morgainne _

            Beneath the slip of paper was a large book that Corryn had seen more times in her life than she cared admit.  It was one of Apryl's most prized possessions; a book she refused to put on her bookshelf, but would lay it on her dresser so that it was not but an arms length away.

            "The Lord of the Rings," Corryn spoke the title aloud.

            Morgainne was Apryl's best friend.  Two years older than Apryl, the two had only known each other for three years, though Corryn knew the two felt as if they had known one another their whole lives.  She had often envied their friendship.

            Corryn looked at the note again, reread it, then let her eyes fall upon the book.  The officer had said the children had seen an angel appear from nowhere.  

            _Could--could it be?_

_            It could, she told herself.  Hadn't those two always said it would happen?  Didn't they daydream of leaving earth to find a world where they belonged?_

            _It happened._

_            A smile lit her face and she laughed out loud.  __Good for you, Apryl.  Good for you._

_            Suddenly, she remembered a conversation with Apryl not so long ago._

            _"I wanna come to," she had said, walking along beside her sister._

_            Apryl had laughed.  "Alright," she said.  "When we find a way, you can come, too." _

_            "And Jerry?"_

_            "And Jerry."  She had smiled and looked up, seemingly beyond the cloudless sky.  There was such a hunger and longing there that Corryn had turned away, saddened._

_            Corryn frowned.  She stared accusingly at the yellow paper.  "I'm mad at you," she said angrily, crumpling the paper up and throwing it at the window.  She held the book though, for several minutes longer, and then she set it gently upon the corner of Apryl's dresser, where always Apryl had set it, after reading it to Corryn._

            _"I'll read some more tomorrow to you, too, if you like."_

_            "I'd like that."_

_            Never again.___

_            "But I __am happy for you," she said.  Corryn turned and walked to the door, turning around at the last to look at a side of the room that now solely belonged to her.  _

            "Tell Gandalf hi for me," she said softly, and left the room.

*     *     *     *     *

            Morgainne would _kill that bastard wizard if something had happened to Apryl.  Morgainne would kill __herself._

            The elf had been assigned to Apryl since Gandalf had discovered the child nearly seventeen years ago.  The wizard had searched for thousands of years and had more than once thought he had found her.  But she had always escaped them.  Not purposely on her part, but unawares.  She didn't know who she was; _couldn't know, thanks to Sauron._

            Her essence had floated on the plane of earth for some time before she found a physical form and took it.  That was when they had found her.  Gandalf had sent Morgainne to protect her, and the elf had taken the assignment with pride, for an Istari had found favor with her.

            As her charge grew, always Morgainne watched from a distance, contacting Gandalf now and again about certain details and aspects of the supposed human.  It was three years ago that Gandalf became certain that the human child, Apryl, was no human at all, but an Istari that had been, long ago, captured and then banished by Sauron--one of their own.  It was then that Gandalf learned of the Dark Lord's corruption from light into dark.

            Gandalf had mourned--both for the lose of Sauron and the child, for he had loved her like a daughter and Sauron had taken her, abused her, and banished her.  His mourning for Sauron had not lasted long though, for it soon burned into a fury that was indescribable in any aspect.  He had sought, though, and had found her, sending Morgainne to watch her.

            The elf received a relationship that she had never known before, from the Istari.  She knew the child was her superior, but Apryl had never acted it, for she had never known it.  And Morgainne had never told her.  She had sworn to tell the child nothing and she had lived up to that promise, though the gods knew how hard it had been.

            There would be nights that the two would talk, and the child would start her "if only" 's and Morgainne would feel the lose of home way heavy on her heart.  She was deathly homesick; she had been gone for almost seventeen years and though that is not but a few hours for elves, earth had the uncanny ability to wear one thin.  And the child had been in this plane for thousands of years!  Gandalf had suspected all along that her time was coming, when her essence would burst from her human mortality and she would be cast into oblivion--as had been Sauron's intention from the first.

            Gandalf had sent Morgainne to prevent this, and she had nearly failed.  There had been signs, but Apryl had been reluctant to voice any complaints.  Pains to her mortal self she could hide very well.  But the yearnings were much harder to keep from voicing.  Morgainne knew Apryl didn't understand the longing, or why she was so different.  Apryl had had Morgainne, though, and her friend had seemed to understand her feelings so well.  She had told Morgainne everything.  Everything, that is, except the physical pain.  The child had always thought it so irrelevant.

            Morgainne sighed.  If only she'd known.

            It had almost been too late, but not quite.  She had contacted Gandalf and the wizard had told her his intent.

            "A hobbit!" she had exclaimed, almost scornfully.

            "Yes," Gandalf had said.  "He has the Ring."          

            "The One," she had breathed in awe.  And then:  "Very well.  Shall I follow after?"

            "Yes.  Give them a day or so."

            "I shall have to stay out of sight.  Her human parents know me, they will see that I am not saddened."

            At first, there had been no response.  Then, "You might very well be."

            Her heart skipped a beat.  "What do you mean?"

            There was a pause.  He seemed uncertain, loath to voice his fear.  "It may be to late," he said finally.  "Earth may have had her for too long."

            "I'll never forgive myself," she whispered.

            "It is not you, Morgainne.  Not you."  He had been gentle and she had taken a little comfort in his tone, but not much.  "I shall send Frodo."

            Morgainne had seen the result of that at the high school.  None of that should have happened.  Yet, despite it, she hoped everything had went well, though in the pit of her stomach she knew it was not so.  

            She dreaded what she would discover when she returned home on the morrow.

*****

            review for me, ne?  let me know if you think it's going downhill.  thanx for reading . . . .


	5. To Trust Her

            Disclaimer:  Hobbits and elves and dwarves and wizards—none of them are mine.  Unfortunately, I can lay a light claim upon humans . . . but I won't, for fear of the rocks sure to come my way.

            Enjoy.^^

Ch. 5

TO TRUST HER

            "Is he dying, Master Elrond?" Merry asked, trying not to choke on his words.  It was too great an effort for his weary heart.

            Merry stood beside a large, elegantly designed, elven bed, where a small form lay enveloped in its great depths.  Pippin's face was horribly burnt, his hands and chest the same.  His face was hot to the touch, though his toes and fingers were like ice.  The blankets were damp with sweat.

            Elrond glanced at Merry, who held Pippin's hand gingerly in his own.  The hobbit was afraid he might hurt him--the burns--but the hand was so cold, there was no life.

            "I will not lie to you, Master Meriadoc," Elrond said softly and Merry's jaw clenched.  "There is naught I can do.  The power that smote your friend is far greater than I could imagine."  He shook his head sadly.  "It is beyond me."

            A soft knock sounded on the door and Elrond looked up.

            "Ah, Gandalf, come in, come in."

            Gandalf's gray robes rustled as he entered.  He came behind Merry and rested a gnarled hand upon the halfling's shoulder.  Merry flinched away.

            "How is he?" the wizard asked softly, staring down at Pippin's burnt face.

            "Not good, I'm afraid," Elrond said.  "How he lives even now, I do not know."

            "Hobbit's are a stout folk," Gandalf said.

            "Aye, so I have seen."  Elrond rubbed his eyes.  "But the fever will not break and every hour that goes by it gets worse, not better.  I am afraid there is little I can do."  He shook his head and turned to Gandalf.  

            "When I healed Frodo, his wound had been given to him by secondary magic.  The Ringwraiths hold great power, that is true, but most I can counter, for they are my balance, and I theirs.  But Pippin . . ."  He turned and looked at the hobbit.  "It was raw power that struck him, Gandalf.  Untamed, uncontrollable.  Such is far worse than either yours or Sauron's."

            "Indeed," Gandalf mused thoughtfully.

            Merry looked from one to the other, trying desperately to comprehend what they were saying.

            "He _can't die!" he blurted finally.  Rage filled him and he rounded on the wizard.  "This is __your fault, Gandalf!  Yours!  You sent him away.  You sent for the child and brought this all upon us.  Pippin's dying, Frodo won't wake up, and neither will the girl!  Sam's going insane with grief and--and so am I!"  Turning away hurriedly, he buried his face in the sheets next to his cousin.  His small frame shook uncontrollably._

            Elrond looked at the wizard, noted his haggard expression, and clasped him on the shoulder.  "Come, my friend," he said softly.  "We can do nothing."  Elrond led the old wizard reluctantly away.  Gandalf gave Merry's small form one last pitying glance before he was steered from the room.

*     *     *     *     *

            "I am afraid," she admitted; realizing a moment afterwards that that was the first time she had ever spoken those words aloud to anyone.  

            "Where are we?"  Her voice was surprisingly soft and came to her ears only after resounding off invisible walls.

            "I don't know," came the hesitant reply.

            She could only see him now and again, and only if she concentrated constantly on him.  His voice came from a great distance, though at times it seemed he was right behind her.  She always caught herself turning to see if he was there, but he never was.

            "I wish I could see you," she said finally.

            "I'm here," he told her confidently, though he didn't feel so sure.  He had decided for the hundredth time that something had indeed gone wrong.  By now, the two should have been back in Middle-earth, among friends.  They weren't though.  He didn't know where they where.

            Wherever Frodo looked, all was dark and fading; he seemed to be in a world of shadows--in a world of nothingness.  Involuntarily, he shivered.  He was reminded of when he had slipped on the Ring at Weathertop.

            "What happened, Eli--?" she asked, choking on the name.

            "Frodo," he said quietly.

            She didn't seem to be surprised; not at first, anyway.  She was too confused, too much had happened.

            "I am not sure.  I was sent to find you . . ."

            "Me . . . ? But why?"

            Frodo laughed bitterly.  "I don't know."

            He heard a timid "Oh" and his face softened.

            "I'm sorry," he said.  "I am not much help."

            She laughed weakly.  "I am not mad at you.  How could I be?  Your . . ." but she trailed off.  Frodo caught a faint glimpse of her not an arm span away--she had a secretive smile on her face.  He wanted to reach out to her--if for no other reason than to not be alone in this retched dark--but he knew when he tried she would not be there.  This land that they were in . . . it was like they floated about in a horrible nightmare.  None of it made any sense.

            He heard a quiet gasp.

            "Apryl--?"

            "Frodo, do you see?"

            Frodo looked around but he could spy nothing except the eternal darkness.

            "What is it?" he asked.

            "I--I don't know," was her response.  It seemed to come from very far away; further than any time previous.  "A child? . . ." it was no more than a whisper.

            Frodo looked around.  "Apryl?"  Her presence was fading.

            "No . . . not a child . . ."  He could barely hear her now.

            "Apryl!" he cried, searching through the darkness like a hobbit-child searching through his toy chest.  "I can't--"

            "Oh, Frodo!" came the delighted cry.  "He's a hobbit!  A hobbit, like you!"  And as her voice faded into nothingness, he could feel more than hear a terrible dread creep into her voice.  "He--he's hurt."

            And, then, Frodo was home.

            The light that filtered over his tired frame was the most blessed thing Frodo could ever remember feeling.  It gave his insides a warmth that the hobbit prayed would never leave.

            His sapphire eyes cracked open just a hair.  The room held such a dazzling light that he shut them hurriedly.  A moan escaped him.

            "So the great hero finally decides to grace us with his presence."

            The voice was soft and lilting and could only be elven.

            "Legolas," Frodo mumbled, struggling to open his eyes.

            "You still have your wits, I see," Legolas grinned.

            The elf sat cross-legged at the end of Frodo's bed, a wooden flute held delicately in his fine, smooth hands.  He brought the instrument up to his lips and a soft, sweet melody floated from it.  Frodo smiled.  He looked around as Legolas played and spotted Sam fast asleep in a chair beside him.

            "Poor Sam," Frodo said fondly.  "Has he been here long?"

            "As long as you," Legolas said, removing the flute from his lips and placing it gently by his side.

            Frodo looked over at the elf.  "Have _I been here long?"_

            "Almost two days."

            Frodo shook his head.  He wondered how often he would be one place only to wake up and find himself in a bed, resting comfortably in Elrond's home.  As far as he could tell, this was the second.

            "Is Apryl all right?" Frodo asked suddenly, remembering his mission--or more specifically, the child.  If he wound up in bed once again, perhaps she did too.  Surely, he had completed the task Gandalf had placed before him and had gotten her here safely.

            "Who?"  Legolas' nose twitched.

            He had forgotten.  "The child."

            Legolas frowned.  "She is here, if that is what you mean, Ring-bearer."

            He wished people would stop calling him that.

            "Is she well?" Frodo demanded.  "I end up in bed for no reason that I am aware.  What about her?"

            "You both arrived here unconscious.  She hasn't awoken yet."

            Frodo was silent a moment.  "Where's Gandalf?" he asked finally.

            Legolas opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment Sam stirred in his seat, rubbed his eyes, and as they fell on Frodo--awake and well--he cried out in joy and launched himself at his master.

            "Oh, Mister Frodo," Sam sobbed, hugging Frodo tightly.  Frodo returned the embrace fondly.  "I thought you were never coming back.  I thought you would up and die on poor old Sam!"

            "There, there, Sam," Frodo patted his friend on the back, trying not to grin too broadly.  "I am well.  No need to cry.  I am well."

            But Sam wouldn't cease.  He sobbed into Frodo's sheets and would not be quieted.  Worried, Frodo looked over at Legolas but the elf would not catch the hobbit's eye.

            "Legolas?"  Still, the elf refused to look.  Frodo turned back to Sam.  "Sam?  What is it?  What's wrong?"  

            Mournfully, Sam looked up at him.  "It's Pippin."

            His heart chilled in his breast.

            _"Frodo, do you see? . . . He's a hobbit!  A hobbit, like you! . . . He--he's hurt."_

_            Frodo scrambled from the bed and stepped onto the cool wood floor.  The long white shirt that covered his small frame hung down past his large, hairy feet and the sleeves trailed past his small hands._

            "Frodo, wait!"  Legolas sprang to his feet; he reached out to halt the fleeing hobbit.  Sam scrambled to his own feet, but tripped in the process.  Being near at hand, Legolas caught Sam right before he landed on his nose.

            "Thanks," Sam mumbled as the elf righted the flustered halfling.  

            "Careful," Legolas said sharply.  Releasing Sam, he looked up.

            Frodo was gone.

            He was curled in upon himself; in a small ball of pain and misery.

            "Hello?" she called softly, tentatively.

            He didn't even twitch.  His hair was matted in sweat-soaked curls and his feet were scorched and blistered.  Of his hands she could see nothing, for they were tucked away from sight.  His face, too, she could not spy; the curls hid him.

            Suddenly, she was fearful and backed away several paces.

            He moaned.

            Her heart gave a stab of pain and she flinched at the tortured noise.

            _It hurts._

_            Her eyes widened; they were upon none but the small form before her.  She tilted her head to one side._

            _What hurts?_

_            She did nothing more than think it; never did she speak it.  And yet--_

            _Ever'thing._

            She took a hesitant step forward.

            _Are--are you Sam?_

_            The air about her stirred.  It didn't seem right, though, for in this plane--this existence that she found herself--she didn't believe there was any air.  She wasn't even sure she was breathing--wasn't sure if she needed to.  It seemed so irrelevant, somehow._

            _No._

_            Merry, then?  She knew it wasn't so, though._

            _No._

_            Another step.  The air about her crackled._

            _Pippin.  It wasn't even a question, for she knew._

            He twitched and moaned.

            _Hurts . . . ._

_            She knelt beside him, touched him gently on the head.  The air sizzled; it scorched her flesh.  Slowly, she laid him out and saw the air about his face and hands, and even his feet, shimmer and shift; it snapped and sparked._

            "Wake up," she whispered.

            _No._

_            Despite herself, she smiled._

            "Peregrin . . ." she mused aloud, though no louder than a whisper.  She doubted even if the hobbit could hear her.  "Beautiful creatures . . . strong and swift."  She looked at him--at his broken body.  She bit her lip.

            What had happened to him?  Why was he here?  Why was _she here?_

            _Peregrin.  They are birds of prey, Pippin.  Of__ prey.  She ran her hand gently over his forehead, brushing the damp strands aside._

            He screamed.  

            She flinched but did not pull her hand away.  She couldn't, for if she did something . . . horrible . . . .

            _They are small--so very small--but strong, stout, fierce._

_            His wail pierced her ears.  Tears brimmed in her eyes but she willed her hand to stay.  How she wanted to take it away.  His pain ripped through her like a thousand bloodied swords, stabbing again and again and again.  But the hobbit's pain was worse.  Somehow, she knew, it was far greater._

            She closed her eyes.  _You are Peregrin Took.  Her right hand slid to his chest, where it rose one time for every ten it should have.  __You are the Shire's future Thain.  Her left hand she placed on her own chest.  There was a determination in her face that she did not know.  __You, my small fierce falcon, shall not __die._

_            The magic shattered and his screams ceased. ___

*     *     *     *     *

            The first thing Pippin did when he awoke was . . . well, he was sick, and it just so happened that Merry received the blessing of his cousin right in his curls, as it would happen, for he had laid fast asleep beside Pippin for many a lonely hours.  Merry never minded (though he did later berate his cousin, with a good-natured sense, of course) and Pippin smiled weakly, a tiny hint of that mischievous glint in his tired fever-touched eyes, before he drifted into a healing sleep.

            Elrond came as soon as he heard Merry's crazed shouting--the wee halfling running up and down the halls.  At first, the half-elf had feared Pippin had finally gone and his cousin was mad with grief, but it wasn't so and Elrond found the fever had finally passed.  When the elf came upon the halfling he was sleeping in a quiet world where nightmares wouldn't disturb him, and dreams encompassed him.

            Gandalf came in then, followed closely by two very anxious hobbits (one of whom wore naught but a long white night shirt) and an elf, and when he saw the hobbit, well and peacefully asleep, the wizard's old worn face cracked into a smile that seemed to have been pent up for ages.  He nodded as though it had all turned out as he had planned.

            "She found him," he said, quite satisfied, and stroked his beard.

*     *     *     *     *

            She was alone again.  Upon the misty plane of darkness and shadows, she was the only soul to be found.

            Under her palm, he had faded and disappeared.  She had wanted nothing more than to remove her hand, for if she did she knew he would have remained and she feared the solitary dark.  Something was out there, she deemed.  Something horrible.            Despite the cold chill in her heart, though, she did not remove her hand, but watched Pippin fade into nothing.  He did not belong in this realm, she knew, and surely he would have died had he remained.

            Now she was truly alone, and a presence was out there somewhere--an evil presence.  Her gray eyes searched out the mysterious depths of the haunting plane and she shivered as a chill ran up her spine, settling itself quite contently in her heart.

            "I suppose I must find my own way home," she said finally, softly.

            And she did.

*****

poooor pippin!!!  Review for me and tell me what a horrible person I am . . . to hurt pippin!  WAH!!!


	6. Home

            I must say, this is one of my favorite chapters so far . . . ::smiles mischievously::  Bet you'll guess why once you've finished.  Enjoy(heehee)--as I have no doubt you will.^^  

Ch. 6

HOME

            When she awoke, her head pounded dully.  She sighed in disgust.

            _"Just chop the entire thing off--from the neck up."_  She used to say that when she got disgusted with her pains.  Morgainne had always slugged her for it.  Apryl smiled.

            She looked about the room, fully intending to see another bed across the way and posters plastered all over the wall.  What she saw though, it caused her to do a double take.  There was no other bed; there were hardly any walls.  There were open doors everywhere that led outside, allowing the wind to dance about her at its leisure, stirring her hair gently and waking her up all the more.

            Hurriedly, she sat up in bed.  The blankets were thick and soft and she almost regretted leaving their warm embrace, but she thought perhaps she was going insane--waking up as she did to a place that was unfamiliar to her.  _It could be a dream_, she told herself, though almost immediately she discarded the notion.

            _A hospital, then, _she decided, for memories suddenly flooded her mind.  The pain.  The fear.  She hadn't been able to breath for some unknown reason.  Her hand fell to her throat where she felt scratches--marks made by her own hands in a desperate attempt to breathe.

            _Am I in a hospital? _she wondered, and she looked around.  She doubted it.  _A hospital shouldn't feel so . . . so homely, as this place does._

She crawled slowly from the bed, looking all around her in amazement, for the room was truly beautiful.  It was all wood:  the walls, the floor, the bed--and there were carvings everywhere.  Sculptured swans and women and mythical beasts--some Apryl couldn't even name.  _Where am I?_

To her left, she spotted clothes on a chair.  _My clothes, _she realized in confusion.  Looking down at herself, she saw she had on a long white night shift.

            _How . . . ?_

Apryl's face suddenly turned bright red and she ran over to the chair, scooped up the pants, coat, and other belongings, and hugged them to her chest.  Looking around fearfully, she dashed back for the bed and wiggled beneath the covers where she could slip off the shift and hurriedly adorn her own clothes.  Breathless, she threw the covers back.

            _Alright, _she thought, almost angrily, _Time to find out where I am.  _She stepped upon the wooden floor, her feet in naught but white socks, and she made her way to one of the doors.  

            Beyond the sheltered room, she found beautiful grounds laid out before her.  Tall, majestic trees lay spattered about the lawns, dirt paths intertwining about them.  She saw people walking below, most were laughing and talking to one another in a laid back I-have-all-the-time-in-the-world sort of manner.  It reminded Apryl of a painting.

            Hurriedly slipping off her socks and stuffing them in her coat pocket, she made her way to the nearest dirt path with naught but her bare feet, for her shoes had not been amongst her belongings.

            She had only just stepped out upon the path, when one of the men glanced up and, spotting her, gave her such a smile that it warmed her insides.  No one had ever smiled at her like that.  He came over.

            "Afternoon, Lady," he dipped his head and Apryl was suddenly reminded of someone . . . someone from a long time ago.  She wondered at it.  "How fare you?"

            "I--I'm good.  Um, you?"    

            The man's brow crinkled.  "I, Lady?" he asked, confused.  Apryl noted with wonderment that this man wore robes.  Robes!  And purple and green silk, at that!

            "Yes," Apryl said.  "You."

            The man looked at her for a moment as though he thought she might continue and, seeing that she wasn't, he said apologetically, "Forgive me, I do not understand."

            Apryl frowned.  "How are you?"

            "How are I?"

            Apryl blinked, almost scowled in exasperation, but refrained at the last.  She thought back to his words.  "How--" she began slowly, "how f--fare you?"

            The man's face brightened.  "Ah, well.  Quite well."

            Apryl caught sight of his ear and she almost choked.

            The elf frowned.  "Are you well?"  Her face had gone deathly white.

            "Sir, w--who are you?" she asked and it was no louder than a whisper.

            She hardly noted the sudden saddening of his features--Disappointment, was it?--though, almost instantly it was gone.  "Why, Glorfindel, my lady," he said, concern masking . . . something.  "Are you unwell?" he asked again.

            "No--no," she spoke haltingly.  She pointed at his ear.  "You--your an elf."

            Glorfindel smiled hesitantly.  "Yes.  And your--" he hesitated for a moment, and then, "A human, if I am not mistaken."

            "Elf," she breathed, not hearing him.  "An _elf_."

            Glorfindel frowned.  "_Am_ I mistaken?"

            Apryl snapped her eyes back to him, her grey orbs having wandered to the people beyond them.  "Mistaken?  No."  She neglected to note the dismay in his eyes and shook her head, and then peered at him intently.  "Am I?"

            "Are you what?  Human?" he asked.

            "No," she said.  "Mistaken."  

            "About what, Lady?"

            "Your Glorfindel," she said slowly.  "The same Glorfindel who met with Aragorn and the hobbits before the ford, before the Ford of--" she hesitated here, trying to recall its name, "the Ford of Bruinen?"  She wasn't certain if she pronounced it correctly, but the elf seemed to take her meaning.

            Glorfindel nodded.  "Aye."

            She just stood there; just looked at him.  And then she laughed.

            "My lady?"  Glorfindel reached out for her as her knees buckled and she collapsed onto the path.  Still, she laughed.  The elf knelt beside her.  "What is it?"

            Tears streamed down her face and she could do naught but shake her head and clutch her belly.  Glorfindel watched her, helpless.

            Finally, hiccupping, she could laugh no more, for fear that she might be sick.  Apryl looked up at the kneeling elf and smiled.  "May I see them?" she asked breathlessly; hopefully.

            "See whom?"

            Her eyes sparkled.  "The hobbits, my lord."

            Frodo submerged himself in the steaming water of the bathhouse.  _This is bliss,_ he thought, dreamily.

            "What was it like, Frodo?" Merry asked, seeing his cousin reemerge from the water.  He scrubbed at his hair from one tub over.  Soap ran into his eye.

            "What was what like?" Frodo asked, wiping his limp curls from his eyes.  He just lay there, relishing the heat and comfort.

            "Going to . . . to where ever you went."  Merry wiped the soap from his eye, then rinsed his hair clean of it.  Pippin's sickness had been cleaned out after the first washing, but he had made extra certain by scrubbing his hair two more thorough times.  The hobbit grinned.  Sam hadn't looked too well when he had seen Merry's matted hair.  

            Gandalf had ordered Merry to the bathing house and Frodo had volunteered to go along.  Merry could see why, for his cousin looked tired and worn.  A hot bath should fix him up right nice.

            "What were the people like?  Where there any hobbits?"

            "Not that I could see," Frodo said, frowning, remembering the building filled with naught but human children.  "But I was only in one place the whole time.  It seemed to be a human's city," he said.  "Like Gondor."

            "No hobbits?"  Merry glanced at his cousin.

            Frodo shrugged.  

            "Well," Merry thought for a moment.  "What were the humans like?"

            Frodo was silent for a time.  Then, "I don't know.  Most of them were children, like Apryl--"

            "Is that her name?" Merry asked, curious.

            Frodo nodded.  "Yes."

            "Pretty," he commented.

            Frodo said nothing.

            After several minutes of silence, Merry looked over at his cousin.  "And . . . ?"

            Frodo started.  "And?"

            "And what are the humans like?" he asked, rolling his eyes in exasperation.  He felt around in the tub for a moment before he came up triumphantly with the bar of soup.

            "They dressed odd."

            "How so?"  Merry washed behind his slightly pointed ears.

            "Well," he mused, "they all wore pants.  Even the girls."

            Merry dropped the soap and stared at his cousin, wide-eyed.  "Truly?" he asked.

            Frodo nodded.

            "Whoo-boy!" Merry whooped.  "I'd give up a good bit of pipe-weed to see _that!_"

            Frodo laughed.  "You might get the chance, yet," he said, grinning.

            "How so?" 

            "Apryl," Frodo stated simply.

            "Her, too?"

            "Aye."

            Merry laughed.  "What an odd world she comes from!"

            "Indeed," a deep voice agreed.  Frodo jumped in startlement and Merry twisted in the tub to look behind him.

            Gandalf stepped from the shadows.  "How fare you, Frodo?"

            "I'm well, Gandalf.  It's good to be home."

            Gandalf nodded.  "And you, Master Brandybuck?  How do you fare?  You smell better, certainly," he added with a smile.

            "How is Pippin?" Merry asked, ignoring or not hearing Gandalf's question and comment.

            "Yes, Gandalf, has he awakened yet?" Frodo asked anxiously, sitting up, the water lapping at his chest.  The elf-sized tubs were large for the hobbits and, had they been filled to their full, the hobbits probably could have swam in them.

            "No," the wizard said, though he sounded not at all worried.  "He still sleeps, but that is best for him.  He fights the illness better.  Or should I say, magic?"

            "Magic?" Frodo echoed.  "It was magic that harmed him?"

            "Yes," Gandalf nodded gravely.  

            "But--but how?" Merry asked.

            Gandalf sighed.  "When Frodo and the child--"

            "Apryl," Frodo interrupted.  "Her name is Apryl."

            Gandalf frowned.  "When Frodo and the _child_ returned," he continued.  Frodo's eyes narrowed.  "Pippin accidentally got in their path, I suppose we could say, and the power lashed out and struck the young Took a savage blow, for he was unwanted there; in the way."

            "So it was an accident?" Merry asked.

            "Yes," Gandalf lied.  "The magic was, in a sense, protecting itself."

            "Why didn't he die?" Frodo asked softly.

            Gandalf smiled.  "The child."

            "She saved him?" Merry asked, incredulous.  "How?"

            Gandalf hesitated.  Finally, coming to some decision, he prepared to answer, but was cut short as a young female elf ran excitedly into the bathing house.

            "Mithrandir!  Mithrandir!" she chirped prettily.

            Hurriedly, and almost in a panic, both Frodo and Merry dived low into the water, so that all you could see was their wide eyes and wet hair.

            Seeing this, the young elfmaiden giggled and waved at them.  Tentatively, the blushing hobbits waved back.

            "What is it, dear," Gandalf asked, glad his beard was there to hide his smile.

            "The human child," the elf said, her blue eyes alight.  "She's awake, Mithrandir!"

            "Awake," Gandalf breathed.

            "Apryl's awake?" Frodo nearly leapt from the water, but ceased immediately as elven eyes fell upon him.

            Giggling, she nodded.  "Come," she laughed gayly, then ran from the bathing house.  Gandalf hurried after the elf, but then halted as he heard splashing behind him and turned to see both hobbits struggling to get out of the tubs.  He had forgotten them for a moment.

            "No, no," Gandalf said, stopping the hobbits.  "Finishing washing; the child shall still be there when you two get out."  Slowly, the hobbits sunk back into the water, as it seemed it was not a request but a demand.  Gandalf left.

            Merry frowned.  Finally, he stood and proceeded with the difficult task of climbing from the tub.  "You know," he grunted, "you'd think they'd have made some of these hobbit-sized, what with Bilbo staying here and all."

            "What are you doing?" Frodo demanded.   He watched as Merry finally fell free and slipped around on the wet floor. 

            "What does it look like I'm doing?"  He shook his head, sending droplets of water flying from his blonde curls.  Sliding across the floor, he took up his undergarments, tunic, and pants and slipped them on.

            "It looks to me like you're done with your bath," Frodo commented, he himself getting free of the tub.

            "My, you _are_ observant, Cousin."  Merry grinned.

            "And you're very rude," Frodo berated.

            "I rather am, aren't I?" said Merry, laughing.  He tossed Frodo his own clothes.  "Come now, you don't expect we should stay in here while the girl's out there, do you?" he asked.

            "Indeed, no," Frodo agreed.  Then, narrowing his eyes, he glared hard at Merry.  "Her name is Apryl," he said, quite deliberately.

            "So I have heard," Merry said, seemingly not intrested in the least, though there was a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

            "And so I shall knock it into your head until _somebody_ around here remembers!" Frodo ran for his cousin.  With a very ungentlehobbit-like shriek, Merry ran, laughing, from the bathing house, Frodo close on his heels.  The splatter of bare hobbit feet on wet wooden floors and the laughter of light hobbit voices could be heard far and wide--and passing elf lords smiled and shook their dignified heads in quiet amusement.

*****

Now, tell me you haven't a clue as to why this is my favorite chapter.^^  Review for me, k?


	7. When Worlds Collide

Disclaimer:  (Sorry, I forgot this last time . . .)  None of these characters belong to me, but to one very talented man, J. R. R. Tolkien.

Ch. 7

WHEN WORLDS COLLIDE

            Elrond stood upon a balcony overlooking the grounds.  He watched as the child made her way across the grass toward a worn path, but was intercepted along the way by a tall elf.  He talked with her.

            "Find Mithrandir," he spoke softly.  "Tell him she is awake."

            The young elfmaiden nodded and ran softly from the room.

            Elrond stood there silently, raised a delicate eyebrow when the child sat heavily upon the ground in, what seemed to him, fits of laughter.  The elf knelt worriedly beside her.  Moments later, the two turned and made their way back toward the Last Homely House.

            "Master Elrond."

            Elrond turned to find Gandalf standing in an open archway behind him.  He turned back around.  "She is awake," he said softly.

            Gandalf nodded and moved to stand next to the half-elf.  He rested his staff against the wall.

            "Have you spoken with her?"

            Gandalf shook his head.  "I came to seek your counsel first, Master Elrond."

            Elrond was taken aback, but he showed no sign of it.  "What is it that troubles you, Gandalf?"

            "I have spoken with Morgainne," was all the wizard said.  

            Elrond nodded.  "Many of times you have.  I know what you would say, Gandalf.  You have already spoken to the others at the council of my brethren."

            "No, Master Elrond," Gandalf said sharply, "Not of this."

            Elrond faced Gandalf.  "Indeed?"

            "I have spoken to no one of this.  Save Morgainne and one other, I am the only one who knows of it.  Yet, _I alone understand its danger."  From the depths of his gray robes, Gandalf produced a thick book.  "Morgainne brought it with her, though she swears she never read it."_

            "Morgainne has returned?" Elrond asked, at the moment ignoring the object in the wizard's hand.  "Where is she?  It has been long since I have seen her and I would learn of the world she lived in.  Where is she?"

            "With Legolas, for the moment," Gandalf spoke irritably, dismissing the matter.  "Here, look at this!"

            Elrond took it from the wizard.  He frowned at the cover.  "The writing is strange.  But--Yes, I can read it, I think.  It says:  'The Lord . . . the Lord of the Rings.' "  Elrond's eyes widened as the words rolled off his tongue.  He looked in alarm at the wizard.  "Gandalf, what is this?"

            "I know not for certain," Gandalf spoke slowly.  "But Morgainne has heard the child speak of it, and its contents--"

            Elrond gestered down to the yard below in a swift motion.  "_She has read this?"_

            Pain or grief--Elrond did not know which--passed swiftly across Gandalf's face.  "Yes," he spoke with great reluctance.

            "If this is what I think it is--" Elrond began.  The half-elf shook the book at Gandalf.  "This is a dangerous business, my old friend, very dangerous."

            "I know," Gandalf spoke softly.

            Elrond handed Gandalf the book, turned away once again.  The old wizard slipped it out of sight.  "War is at hand.  The outcome is written in that book, I deem, though I will not read it to find out."

            "Neither will I," Gandalf spoke firmly and Elrond looked up.  "Let us think on this matter, you and I," he said more gently, a tinge of fatigue in his gruff voice.  "I will speak with Morgainne again, for she was eager to see Legolas and I could see she had not the heart to speak of such dark matters.  Later, I think, once she has seen the child well and safe and met her childhood companion once again, will she speak more freely."  Gandalf took his staff from the wall.  "She is very fond of the child.  But fonder still, I think, of a certain Mirkwood prince."

            "Indeed," Elrond frowned.  "How will Thranduil take it, I wonder?"

            Gandalf smiled.  "Perhaps not so badly, once a certain old wizard has his say in the matter."

            Elrond shook his head, but smiled fondly at him.  "As I am sure he will, no matter if one wishes to hear him or not."

            Gandalf chuckled.  "Indeed."

            Elrond laughed aloud, a rare but pleasant sound, and put an arm around the stooped old man.  

            "Come," he said, "Let us see this young Istari that I have long missed."

            Glorfindel did not know where Samwise was, but figured the hobbit was with his old master, Bilbo Baggins.  Unfortunately, neither had he a clue to where he might find the elder hobbit.  Bilbo had loved all of Elrond's house and one could often spend an entire day trying to seek another out.  There was no one room Bilbo preferred over another.  Though the elf knew where Frodo and Merry were, he also knew that according to hobbit behavior one did not come upon another they hardly knew in a bathhouse--especially one of the opposite sex, as was the Istari.  For some odd reason, the hobbits found it improper.  Glorfindel shrugged.  Let the hobbits keep their silly modesty then.

            That left the youngest of the hobbits:  Peregrin Took.  Glorfindel had meet the halflings on their terrifying journey to Rivendell, but had not got to know any one of them personally.  Glorfindel knew Pippin was ill, but he also knew where the wee hobbit was, and the Istari's request could not go ignored.  She seemed to want to see them very much, and who was he to disappoint her.

            As he led her up the steps to Pippin's room, he was suddenly reluctant.  What if she saw Pippin and realized what she has done to him, saw that it was her fault?  

            Glorfindel remembered the Istari, he even remembered her name, though all were forbidden to use it after Sauron had taken and banished her.  The elf remembered the last time she had come to Rivendell, closely following Mithrandir to.  He remembered that soft kiss she had planted upon his cheek so very long ago.

            _"I have missed you, my friend," she had told him softly, the entire ocean in her large eyes._

_            "I have missed you more, my Lady," he had told her, formally, for many elves were present.  "For without your bright eyes and warm smile, Rivendell has been most drear this past year."_

_            He remembered the smile she had allowed him, the glance she had bestowed upon the other elves, and the laugh that had come.  "You tease me," was all she had said._

            Many had been fond of her and all and more had been torn when they had learned of her abduction.  And then destruction.  Gandalf had always denied it though.  He had never believed she had been destroyed.  But then again the old wizard had held her most dear to his heart, and he could be stubborn when the need arose.

            Glorfindel was suddenly roused from his thoughts as he realized the Istari spoke to him.  He looked down at her.

            "Is something the matter?" she asked.

            The elf realized he had hesitated at the hallway leading to the hobbit's room.

            "We are going to see the hobbits, aren't we, Glor-Glorfin--" she stumbled over the unfamiliar name, then swallowed it down and blushed.

            Glorfindel felt a pain in his heart.  She didn't remember him.  

            Gandalf had said as much.

            _"I do not know what Sauron did to her," Gandalf had told the council of elves, the evening they had found her and the hobbit unconscious upon the grass, accompanied by the unfortunate Took.  Elrond, Glorfindel himself, and others of the elf's household were there, even a light-haired elf prince from Mirkwood.  Glorfindel did not recall his name.  "I am merely thankful he did not destroy her."  There was a murmur of agreement.  "Why he did not, I know not, though perhaps . . ." He had trailed of then, reluctant to voice a suspicion long held in his heart.  "I doubt very much that she will be the same," he added mournfully.  "I fear she will not remember us, nor the days of old.  If Sauron did nothing else to her, he did this, I am certain.  Tell her nothing when she wakes, but be kind to her.  Let me speak with her first, and find out what I may." _

_            "It's Glorfindel, my Lady," he said with a forced smile._

            She nodded.  "You can call me Apryl."

            "Yes, Lady."

            The girl frowned.  

            "Follow me," he said and Apryl did as he bid.

            There was no door to the room once they came to it, but merely an opening in the wall.  The two entered.

            Apryl looked around expectantly, but as her gaze fell upon a still form lying in bed, a confused frown marred her features.  She stepped forward hesitantly.

            Glorfindel noted the look.  "Forgive me, Lady, but I am uncertain where the others are at the moment.  Master Peregrin was the only one whose physical activities have been limited of late."  He still didn't understand why she sought the hobbits, nor how she knew about them.  Perhaps Frodo had said more than was necessary when he had found her.

            Apryl stopped suddenly and turned.  "Pippin?" she said in confusion.  She turned back to the hobbit.  "But isn't this--I thought . . ." she walked forward again, until she came to the bed and could go no further.  _But this isn't right.  She saw the blisters and scars on his face--ruinous scars.  Frodo had never had such . . . but neither had any of the other hobbits.  The elf was right though:  it wasn't Frodo lying in the bed.  But how could it be Pippin?  Pippin had never been hurt . . . he had never had scars._

_            He was curled in upon himself; in a small ball of pain and misery._

_            The image flashed through her consciousness unbidden.  It came, though, and it was enough.  She remembered._

            "What have I done?" she whispered, horrified.

            Pippin moaned and stirred.  His eyes cracked open ever so slightly, and she saw, for the first time in her life, the sharp gray eyes of Peregrin Took.  They focused on her and she saw that they seemed shadowed.  Behind her, Apryl felt Glorfindel shift but she did not look at him.  She couldn't take her eyes of the savaged face.

            The elf stepped forward with a glass of red liquid.  "Here, Master Took," he said gently, "Drink this."

            With the elf's help, Pippin struggled to a sitting position and drank the wine greedily.  Glorfindel chuckled.  "Careful, careful," he chided lightly and, reluctantly, the hobbit slowed.  With a satisfied hiccup, Pippin handed over the glass and fell, exhausted back in the soft bed.  Droplets of sweat formed on his brow.

            Glorfindel looked from the hobbit to the Istari, then clearing his throat delicately, he announced, "I think I should go fetch Mithrandir--or Gandalf, as you so name him.  I shall be back soon."  He dipped his head in Apryl's direction, "My Lady," and he turned and left.

            _Gandalf, Apryl thought as she watched him go.  But the wonderment of the name vanished as she felt dark, tired eyes upon her.  She put her hands in the pocket of her coat, fiddled nervously with several items.  Taking a deep breath, she turned her gaze to the wounded hobbit.  His head was tilted at a slight angle, and he watched her sleepily, as if he sought something . . . a memory, perhaps.  Or a dream.  She seemed familiar to him, somehow._

            Apryl bit her lip.  Now that she was here, alone, seeing a hobbit before her, she did not know what to do, did not know how to react.  Perhaps it would have been different had he not bore the scars and beaten-look that he now held.  She had always imagined meeting the hobbits as wonderful and beyond comparison.  But it wasn't, somehow, for she had never suspected to do something . . . to _hurt one of them.  For that is what she had done.  She did not remember how, nor why, but she knew.  She __knew, and that was all that mattered._

            Both watched the other . . . and neither spoke a word.

            The shadows kept creeping before his eyes and it was becoming extremely difficult to stay focused on any one thing.  Especially the girl.  She was like the shadows.  At least, she blended in exceedingly well with them.

            "M-my name's Peregrin," he said finally, noting with some irritation that, in his own ears, his words slurred together.

            "I know," she said softly.  

            He wanted to ask her how, but the effort was too great.  It seemed his tongue had other ideas--like lying still and doing nothing.  _What did that blasted elf give me? he wondered angrily, images of the girl swimming before him.  He wished she would say something._

            Pippin breathed deeply, forced his eyes open, hoping the shadows would dissolve.  They didn't.

            "Are you--are you who Cousin Frodo was sent for?"  Suddenly there was two of her.  Pippin blinked several times and the two bodies merged.

            She was silent a moment and then a desperate look came over her.  "I don't know.  Is he well?"

            The young hobbit was suddenly alarmed.  He struggled to sit up--to demand of her what she meant by 'is he well?'--but as he did blackness suddenly slammed into him, full force.  With a moan, it swallowed him wholly.

            He slid sideways, too far, and Apryl cried out and dove for the hobbit as he crashed to the floor.  She caught him halfway down by the left arm, but the grip was awkward and, instead of releasing her hold, was dragged down with him.

            The two landed in a heap of arms, legs, and sheets.  She disentangled them as best she could before she was able to catch her breath and look down at the hobbit.  She bit her lip, for he looked horribly pale.  But what caused the tears, the ache in her heart, were the disfiguring scars caused by blisters and fire and--she knew now--magic.  She felt the insides of her gut twist and writhe.

            Tentatively, Apryl touched his cheek, though her hand snapped back as though she had been scorched.

            "What have I done?"  Truly she did not understand.  How did she cause this young hobbit to look like he had been consumed by fire?  Never had Tolkien talked of such.  It must be her; something to do with her being here.

            She still couldn't believe she was in Middle-earth, not even with a small hobbit's head lying in her lap.  She touched his curls.

            "I am sorry, Pippin."  Whatever it was she had done, she knew it would hold greater consequences than mere scars on the face--though God knew that was horrible enough.  Perhaps he would never marry because of this.  Perhaps his hobbitmaiden would find him less attractive and so would never stop to talk with him as she might have done before.  Was that not the way?  If the outside appearance wasn't satisfactory, the chance greatly slimmed of any love blossoming?  Apryl prayed it was not so.

            _Be strong, my falcon._

_            That is how Gandalf found them.  The hobbit youth on the floor in the young Istari's arms.  She rocked him gently and spoke to him softly, and the old wizard saw Pippin slept more soundly than he had in a long while._

            Glorfindel lifted the young hobbit, though the child seemed loath to release him.  He covered Pippin, whose flesh had grown hot to the touch.

            "Come," Gandalf said to the girl, who had not moved from her secluded spot on the floor.  She looked up at him and the elf thought she looked as if she were in a waking-dream.  Slowly, she got to her feet and followed.

            Frodo and Merry ran first to Apryl's room and, when they found her bed empty, went to Pippin's.

            "Where is she?!" Frodo asked breathlessly, as the two hobbits stumbled into their cousin's room to find none but a sleeping Pippin and a tall elfmaiden.  She looked up from dabbing Pippin with a cool cloth.

            Frodo stuttered an apology, realizing who it was that stood before him.  "L-lady Arwen," he gasped, "f-forgive me."

            She smiled at him kindly.  "I see you are well, Master Frodo."

            He nodded.  "Yes."  Frodo had not seen the Lady Arwen since he had awoken for the first time in Rivendell.  Gandalf had said she had helped her father heal him.  He knew it for the truth; for it seemed to him he had dreamt of her.  Or perhaps it was him floating in and out of the waking world.

            "It is good to see you again, Master Meriadoc," she said, spying Merry hanging in Frodo's shadow.

            "And you, Lady," Merry said.

            She smiled and the hobbit blushed.

            "You seek the child?"

            Both hobbits nodded; their curls bounced.

            "She is with Mithrandir."  

            Frodo sighed.  "Then we shan't see her for awhile."

            Arwen laughed.  "No, I suspect you won't."

            "Is Pippin well?" Merry asked, spying his cousin.

            Arwen frowned.  "He had a mishap," she said, "It was from excitement, I deem.  But it was small and shan't have any lasting consequences.  He needs rest is all."  She looked at them.  "He has already met your friend."

            "Apryl?" Frodo asked in surprise.

            "Is that what you call her?"

            "That is her name," Frodo said.

            The Lady Arwen frowned darkly.  "That is what _they call her."  The two hobbits frowned in confusion.  "It would be wise, my friends, to not call her that any more."_

            "Why?" demanded Merry.  Then, remembering to whom he spoke, stammered, "M-milady."

            Arwen sighed sadly, but said only, "Speak to Gandalf of this, my small friends.  He may answer you your curious thoughts."

*     *     *     *     *

            Morgainne had fallen asleep in the chair unintentionally.

_            That morning, she had returned home.  She had talked with the wizard Gandalf briefly, giving him the book she had been able to confiscate from Apryl's home before she left.  The wizard had not been pleased.___

            _"Why did you take this?" he demanded, holding the book up._

_            "I thought you might use it," she told him._

_            "Use it?  Use it!?" he cried in disbelief, tossing the book to the ground in disgust.  "This is not a game, Morgainne."_

_            "I know that!" she retorted, suddenly angry.  "But you yourself have said it, Gandalf.  We are at the brink of destruction.  __Should Sauron defeat us . . ."_

_            "Yes," the wizard hissed, "then our world is doomed."  He turned from the elfmaiden and paced the room.  "It has crossed your mind, child?  Her world is alive and well, and so you deem ours must be, too."_

_            "Of course," Morgainne said scornfully.  "Have you not concluded the same?  We know only because of Apr--"  Morgainne choked on the name.  "The child, the Istari," she said.  "Sauron cast her into a time far into the future.  For such a place to exist surely we must defeat him."_

_            Gandalf whirled on her.  "Aha!" he jabbed his staff at her and she stumbled back several paces.  "My dear Morgainne, do you not see the danger already?  Sauron did great damage by sending her there in the first place.  Look at the confidence this thing__ gives us!"  He gestured wildly at the book.  "_

_            "Not the book, Gandalf," Morgainne shook her head.  "Your charge," the elf said softly, then added with sudden confidence:  "Apryl."_

_            Gandalf's eyes narrowed.  "Do not call her that," he warned._

_            "It is her name."_

_            "No.  You know her name, Morgainne."_

_            Morgainne shook her head.  "I never knew her Before, Gandalf.  To me, she is not an Istari but a human girl hardly seventeen.   I will call her Apryl," she said defiantly.  "For that is all I have ever known."_

_            Gandalf had gone terribly white at those words.  "Get out," was all he said._

_            Morgainne realized she had gone to far.  "Gandalf, I meant no disrespect--"_

_            "Get out."_

_            "She does not remember you nor any of the others.  All she has ever known is Earth.  You must understand--"_

_            "No, Morgainne," Gandalf spoke no louder than a whisper.  "You are the one who __needs to understand.  The child is__ of Middle-earth."_

_            The elf frowned but stilled her tongue from further protest.  "I would see her," she said at last._

_            Gandalf sighed and rubbed his eyes.  "Go, then," he allowed.  "We shall talk later."_

_            Morgainne turned to leave but the wizard spoke suddenly, halting her footsteps._

_            "I am not angry with you, child," Gandalf said and she turned back to face him.  "It is just . . . hard, so very hard."_

_            Morgainne nodded in understanding.  "I know, Mithrandir.  I do not begrudge you.  But it is hard on her as well.  Or, will be, once all is laid clear.  There is much to explain for . . . on both ends."_

_            Gandalf nodded sadly.  "Indeed.  I dread it very much."_

_            Already, Morgainne regretted her earlier words.  "Don't.  She's understanding.  She copes well."_

_            The wizard nodded and his eyes glazed over, as though he was in centuries long forgotten by many--or at least, by one.  "I know."_

_            Morgainne left Gandalf to better days--ones that had always dawned so very bright and clear--and went to find her friend._

_            She had found her.  Apryl was asleep and would not be woken.  The elf had seated herself near at hand, in hopes she would awake, but the strenuous journey back home soon got the better of her and she found herself drifting off into a dreamworld all her own.  _

            She dreamt of many things:  people she had met and befriended but would never see again; dark shadows that rose up to take the form of one terrible Dark Lord; days long forgotten that held no sorrow nor grief, when she played most carefree with a close friend who was dear to her heart.  His music came to her late in her dream and she awoke, only to find that it was not the imaginings of a home-sick mind, but it was as true as anything.

            Laughter, too, came to her.

            She blinked the sleep from her eyes and looked around excitedly, but before she could fully take in the entire room, slim but well-muscled arms enveloped her from behind.  A voice, soft as anything, whispered in her ear:

            "She is getting slow, I think."

            Morgainne could not keep the grin from her features, even when she slipped from his arms as easily as if he had not been there at all.  She stood before him and he straightened.

            "Am I indeed?" she asked.

            He raised an eyebrow at her and grinned wickedly.  "Perhaps she wants to redeem herself?" he asked casually.

            "Do I need to?"

            "I suppose not," the elf said, waving his hand and turning away, as if he was bored with the conversation already.  "She _is only common."_

            Her eyes narrowed.  "Indeed?"

            He turned to face her again and she could see the laughter in his blue eyes as easily as she could see the sunlight filtering through the glassless windows.  "Yes," he said, a haughty smirk coming uneasily to his features.  She wondered if he had been practicing that look.  If so, he was as poor at this as he was at playing that silly little flute of his, for neither fit him at all.  

            "Very well," she said, turning nonchalantly away.  Without warning:  "Let us play, then," and she ran.

            She heard his laughter, a sound she had never forgotten, not even in the dismal plane of Earth where all familiarity had seemed so very far away.  It had faded at times, yes, but never had she wholly forgotten it.  Barely, she could hear his footfalls behind her.  The wooden floors of Elrond's home passed away beneath her feet, replaced by a great expanse of woodland.

            "Catch me if you can . . . my princling."

*****

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	8. The Lady Atira

            Disclaimer:  The world of Middle-earth, as many of you no doubt know, is a creation by Tolkien for his readers.  I claim none of his characters, nor his world, nor any part of any idea behind any of his creation.  I merely wish to meet his characters, walk his world and explore every part of every idea behind his creation.  I claim nothing for my own.

            *note:  I hope you still enjoy and I appreciate the reviews, they're very encouraging—thanks for your time.^^ 

Ch. 8

THE LADY ATIRA

            It was many hours that Gandalf kept the girl, talking with her, explaining things that, at first, baffled her beyond anything.  Apryl learned many things, though half of which she did not believe at first, nor would she for a long while.  She spoke little or not at all, for Apryl realized she sat before Gandalf the Grey, a wizard of great import, and he intimidated her greatly.  And yet, despite this, she wanted to laugh aloud when he told her that she--_she!_--was an Istari.  An _Istari!_  Like Gandalf and--and Radagast, was it?--and Saruman and . . . and Sauron.  For some reason that name alone caused her to shiver.

            But this was all insane--of course, if going to Middle-earth wasn't insane, she didn't know what was.  But surely Gandalf was mistaken. Why would he want her?  Surely, it was nothing but a mistake.

            Gandalf could see the doubt in her eyes as easily as he could see the sun descending in the west.  He had told her everything and, though he had always known the difficulty of this task, had always hoped she might remember; might believe and accept.

            She hadn't, though, and he couldn't very well be surprised.  Nor could he blame her.  In the end, he accepted what he knew he must.  Time was the only easing balm he could expect.

            There was one matter though, that he could not allow Time to mend.  He felt the hard lump that could only be that accursed book within his robes.  _But not tonight,_ he decided.  He watched the sun creep down the sky.  

            He looked over at the girl, who watched him curiously but, also, he noted sadly, warily.

            He stood, remembering the time and said, "Come, let us sup with the Master of this House."

            At the reminder of food--not to mention at the prospect of who might be attending the dinner table--Apryl jumped eagerly to her feet.

            There were no hobbits at the dinner table.  Only elf lords and men, and several dwarves it seemed.  Apryl couldn't hide her disappointment when she entered the hall, but struggled to mask it as elven, human, and dwarven eyes fell upon her.  Her face flushed crimson.

            "Welcome, Lady," Elrond said graciously and her eyes fell upon him.  He stood at the head of the table, tall and proud.  He glanced at Gandalf and Apryl saw the wizard give a slight nod.  The half-elf's gaze once again fell upon Apryl and he smiled.  "Welcome, Lady Atira."

            A murmur went through the elves, though the humans and dwarves seemed not to notice anything out of the ordinary.  Indeed, one of the dwarves, younger than his fellows with a glistening almond-colored beard, seemed to be the only ones to note the elves odd behavior.  He made no comment on it.  Many of them, however, did note Apryl's odd clothing.  With the days confusing events, she had not changed from her jeans or jacket.  Still, she walked about barefooted, though she had adorned her socks before speaking with Gandalf (the wooden floor was often cool to the touch, especially as winter approached).

            Lord Elrond gestured to the long table.  "My guests," he said to Gandalf and Apryl, "please, join us."

            An elven servant stepped forward to take Gandalf's hat, staff, and silver scarf; he handed them over graciously.  The elf turned to Apryl expectantly.  She eyed him, then glanced at Gandalf.

            "Your coat, my dear," he said through the corner of his beard, never looking at her or otherwise hinting at her dilemma.  She gave the jacket over reluctantly--it was her security--but she didn't want to protest for fear she might insult Lord Elrond and his kindness.  Besides, a jacket at the dinner table is most improper, though, Apryl had to admit she'd done it often enough.

            Gandalf lead Apryl to an empty seat to Elrond's left.  The Earthling was not so dense as to not see the honor bestowed upon her.  Before sitting, she dipped her head respectfully (she had seen two others use that gesture kindly and thought it appropriate).  Elrond smiled kindly and glanced at Gandalf.  Both were well pleased. 

            "I still do not understand Lord Elrond's reasoning," Pippin said hoarsely.  "He shouldn't condemn you all just because of me."  He shifted slightly but grimaced nonetheless.  Everywhere, his flesh burned.  

            "Oh, Pip, stop fretting." Merry said in exasperation.  "We've been over this a hundred times.  The only reason you haven't been satisfied with them beforehand is because you think we're upset with you."  He glanced at Frodo who stood on a balcony under the stars.  "We're not."

            "Well I am, if you're not," Pippin said, struggling to sit up.  He wanted to see Frodo but he couldn't because of the angle he found himself.  He bit back several gasps of pain.

            Merry wanted to shove his cousin back down, but he didn't want to touch him.  He had seen the burns and he could just imagine the pain.  "If you don't knock that off I'll really make it hurt," he threatened, seeing Pippin's face twist into a grimace. 

            "I wonder what Lord Glorfindel did with that wine he kindly lent me not so long ago," the hobbit wondered wistfully, gasping and stretching to the side in hopes of seeing Frodo.  His cousin was cast into shadow.

            "I see they didn't let you go either," Sam said pointedly, walking into the room, followed by Bilbo.  All three hobbits glanced up, including Frodo.

            "Sam!" Frodo said, delighted.  He smiled (the first, since Elrond had told the hobbits not to attend the evening meal.  _"Trust me on this, Frodo," _was all the half-elf had said) and beckoned his friend to stand with him outside.  Sam hurried forward, though he did tell Pippin he was glad to see him well.

            "Hullo, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, joining his master as Bilbo pulled up a chair next to Merry.  "How was your bath?  Did it help?"

            Frodo smiled at his friend's concern.  "Yes, Sam, it helped."  The smile faded away though and he tilted his head to look up into the sky.  It was a beautiful night and Frodo was glad he was home.

            "Have you seen her?" he asked softly.

            Sam looked at his master, noting the odd note in his voice.  "Once, though only when she slept."  He thought for a moment, then added, "She was very small, Mr. Frodo.  Is she truly so important."

            He never took his gaze from the heavens.  "I don't know, Sam.  Maybe."

            The evening was the best she had ever known.  Her cheeks were flushed in pleasure and nervousness and her heart fluttered rapidly.  To her delight, she found Glorfindel seated to her left.  She smiled at him, for he was a most welcome sight--it seeming he was one of few familiar faces.  She drank her first glass of wine that night and it made her cheeks flush pleasantly and her eyes sparkle and shimmer, as the stars would do when reflected within the ocean's great depths.  The food was plentiful; though she was uncertain weather any passed her lips.  She doubted it, for her nervousness was great.  She talked little, but listened quite readily, indeed, eagerly.  A man that sat across from her spoke often and told many great tales that, had it been any other time, she would have listened quite readily.  But too much "adventure" went on around her for her to pay much heed to any one thing for any great amount of time.  He did seem familiar to her though and she wondered at this, for she didn't recollect a man like him in any of Tolkien's work.  He was a handsome man, very tall for a human and lean like an elf, though his shoulder's broadness told that he was human.  His hair was dark and his eyes a rich brown.  No, she was certain she did not know this man.  Her attention soon left him, though, to marvel at an elven ear or a dwarven voice, and the man quite hurriedly left her thoughts, not to return for some time.

            It was a splendid night, one of which she wished she could have been a part of for all eternity.  So content and overwhelmed was she that she clean forgot about the hobbits.  Indeed, had someone asked her, the only answer anyone was like to receive was, "Hobbits?  What's a hobbit?"  Well, perhaps not but her mind was so boggled at the time that it was hard to think straight.  But no one asked her and she thought not once of any of them.  

            She stared around her dreamily, not even remembering to feel embarrassed at the attention some showed her.  It was only the elves that took much of an interest in her and when they did, they were so polite and kind that she _couldn't _have felt uncomfortable had she wanted to.  (Which she wouldn't have.)  The humans would glance her way every once in a while--mainly for her odd clothing--but for the most part, they paid her not much mind.  One did though.  In fact, he paid her so much mind to trouble himself to get up and come around the table and kneel before her.  

            "I've heard much about you, Lady," he told her and he kissed her gently upon the hand.  "I am honored to finally meet you.  I am Aragorn."

            Apryl, suddenly feeling light-headed, mumbled something incoherent (what she said she could never recall afterwards).  He smiled at her and returned to his seat.

            Elrond seemed displeased but Apryl didn't notice, her being too preoccupied with clearing the fog from her head.  She glared at her empty wineglass accusingly.

            The dwarves found it odd that a _human child_ would be allowed to sup at the table of such a lord as Elrond.  Most discarded the trivial article of her clothing immediately (their females were known for wearing pants) and her shoe-less feet were no concern of theirs (humans had odd practices) but why in the name of the gods would an elf such as Elrond allow a child to eat with them?  Most came to the conclusion that she was important to the elves; others passed it off as another of the fickle elves' fancies.  Who could ever tell with elves?  She found many watching her with more curiosity, though, than hostility.  They treated her with kindness and were inturn impressed and quite pleased by the respect she showed them.  They had always viewed humans as lacking in manners.

            It was late.  The servants had long since ceased bringing out food and drink (indeed, many were sleeping soundly) and Gandalf was lounging in his chair with a pipe clamped between his teeth.  He blew smoke-rings and listened to grand tales told by a man seated next to him.  If Apryl had been paying attention she would have noted that it was the same human she had wondered over earlier.  She wasn't though.  She was nearly asleep in her own chair, though she willed against it with all her strength.  No one had been talking to her for a while and sleep had found her and was now beginning to sing sweet songs to her.  She was trying to ignore them.  Others were succumbing to its sweet lullabies, though.  An elder dwarf was snoring several seats down.  A young blond elf blinked dreamily into his wineglass and a human was trying vainly to calm the hiccups that had assailed him and at the same keep from sliding out of his seat.        

            Lord Elrond looked upon his guests and smiled.  Pleased with the picture painted before him and, noting with quiet fondness the young Lady beside him try to stifle a yawn, he rose to his full height.  Those who were not snoring into their meals quieted and glanced over at the lord.  "I see we grow weary.  Indeed, it is late.  

            "I fear I have let this celebration go on too long, but I am certain most my brethren understand my desire for such, if most the rest of my noble guests do not," he smiled kindly at the child.  Glorfindel, next to her, smiled and brushed a fallen tear from his cheek.  None, save his lord, noticed.

            "Come, let us find our soft beds and sleep this night away--of what is left, at least," and with that, the night was ended and lord and guests rose--some being awakened and aided by comrades--and went to their beds, where ever they might be found in the large and beautiful Last Homely House.

            Morgainne watched the elves and dwarves and humans depart.  But mostly, she watched Apryl, or Atira, as she had once been known.  From the shadows she watched and she wanted nothing more than to join Apryl in this world of "fantasy."  This is what they had always dreamt about--together, just the two of them.  But like the hobbits, Morgainne was forbidden to see her.  She understood Elrond's reasoning.  It was for Apryl's benefit not to get too overwhelmed with events.  The elf was reluctant, anyhow.  How was Apryl going to react when she found out her best friend was not who she had always claimed to be.  That her best friend, the one person she had shared her deepest and darkest secrets with, had said naught but lies from the very first.  Apryl would condemn her.

            She would wait until morning to see her friend.

            She was in very high spirits.  The sleepiness that had haunted her during dinner's end, was now all but gone.  Apryl followed Gandalf down the halls, trying to take everything in--but failing miserably.  She smiled anyhow.

            "I cannot believe this," she said suddenly.

            Gandalf peered down at her.  "Believe what?"

            "All of this!"  She spread her arms wide and skipped several paces forward.  "Elrond--I mean, Lord Elrond--he named me Atira.  Is that who I was?"  Still, she wasn't certain whether she accepted all Gandalf had told her.  She viewed it as more of a game than anything.

            Gandalf frowned but Apryl did not see for the shadows.  Often, they hide many things.  "That is who you _are_, child.  Atira."  He spoke the name fondly.  It had been a very long time since that name had passed his lips.

            "Did I have a color?" she wondered aloud.  

            The wizard smiled down at her.  "No, my dear."

            "Oh," she didn't sound too disappointed.  None of this had anything to do with her, besides.  This Atira, she was somebody completely different.  Not of Earth.  Not Apryl.  "Why not?"

            "I don't think I shall say."

            Apryl looked hurt.  "Why?"

            He smiled.  "There are many things yet to talk about, my child.  Things which would take a terrible long time.  Let us wait for a time.  Perhaps for a very long time," he added softly.

            Apryl said nothing to this, but her good spirits suddenly dimmed terribly and she hung back, once again following in Gandalf's wake.  It seemed they walked a very long while before she once again spoke.

            "Gandalf," she tried hesitantly and the wizard turned to look at her, though her face was cast into shadow.  Had they walked several yards more a candle would have given them light, and the old man would have noted the struggle within her eyes.  Finally:  "You seem to know a terrible lot and I am going to assume you know this, too."  She hesitated, then took a breath.  "I have read things," she began, "about Middle-earth--" she heard him sigh and she cut off immediately.

            "I know," he said softly.

            They were silent many long moments:  Gandalf collecting his thoughts and Apryl trying to figure what she wanted to say.  She almost regretted telling him.  "I am very fond of them," she said finally, truthfully.  "I would not be seperated from them."  She saw he was about to say something and, fearing he would protest, she plunged on, without a breath.  "I know I've already screwed things up by coming here.  What with Pippin and all, and I haven't even seen Frodo since I left home, but I would very much like to meet the others--Sam and Merry, and dear old Bilbo.  I won't say anything to them, I swear.  Frodo didn't know why you wanted me and I assume the others won't either.  I'll tell them nothing, if that's what you like, but I would not be left behind."

            "Left?"  His voice held a sharp edge.  "What are you talking about?"

            She slapped a hand over her mouth.  She had made a terrible mistake.  "I'm sorry," she mumbled from behind it.  "I thought you knew."

            He looked at her long moments, then:

            "You know of the Ring?  How?" he demanded.  He knew the answer though, knew what she would say.

            "I told you," she said meekly.  _I should have never said anything!  _Her heart mourned.  _But he is the only one who may get me this! . . . or condemn me from it._

            He pulled something from his robe and Apryl could barely make out the letters.  She gasped.  "Where did you get this?"

            Gandalf growled.  "It matters not."  He shoved it away.  She recognized it.  That, at least, was obvious.  _This book is indeed ill for us._

            "Please, Gandalf," she pleaded.  "I'll tell no one, but you must let me go with you."  Suddenly, she had an idea.  "I know things—things that will happen!  Let me come and I may be able to prevent some of them."

            "No!" Gandalf farely roared.  The girl cringed back.  He shook his head in great earnest.  "No, Atira, say nothing of this to me!"

            "I'm sorry," she whispered.

            "You have changed things already you say.  Indeed, with your coming Pippin was gravely wounded, which otherwise would not have been.  And yet, this was not recorded in this book of yours?  Things have already been altered, it seems."  He grew quiet.  Then, abruptly, he turned.  "Come.  I must think on this and you must sleep.  Come."

            She followed him reluctantly, tears farely coming to her eyes.  _I should have kept my big mouth shut!  _She cursed herself bitterly.

*****

Let me know what you think?  Any feedback is greatly appreciated.  Thanks, you guys!^^


	9. A Promise in the Rain

            Disclaimer:  This is all Tolkien's; never mine.

            *note:  This is another one I'm rather fond of.^^  Enjoy.

Ch. 9

A PROMISE IN THE RAIN

            The next morning dawned wet and dismal.  Rain poured in sheets beyond the intricate doorways leading outside.  Apryl watched the downpour from the soft elven bed, her eyes wide and shimmering.  The effect was magical.  The rain fell everywhere beyond her room, clouded in a gray mist that softened the sound of the pattering water.  She sat there very still and quiet, in a home that was owned by an elf, in a world that should have been nothing more than a fantasy in her mind.  And yet, everything was so real.  It was not just the sound and the smell and the taste of the world around her, for all her dreams had that quality.  It was the _feel_.  She couldn't describe it, this _feeling_ she loved.  It was something that brought tears of joy to her eyes.  It sent her stomach writhing in flip-flops that were almost, but not quite, unpleasant.  This _feeling_ that made her want to jump right up and run, laughing, into the rainstorm.  Had she been afraid the feeling might disappear, she would have done just that.

            After a while though, when the _feeling_ grew to an overwhelming urgency, she leapt from the bed in naught but her white night shift and, bare-footed, walked--no, ran--to one of the many arches leading outdoors.  She stood there in the dry overhang for several moments, watching with mounting excitement.  Suddenly, the image of a short man with a beard, dancing around came to her mind and she smiled.

            _I wish Tom Bombadil was here.  I should like to dance with him.  _Her eyes sparkled like the falling rain.  She twirled and the shift billowed.  

            After several moments, she stumbled to a stop and, grinning, glanced around the room.  On the far end, she spied a cedar closet that she hadn't taken the time to note before.  On her awakening, she had sought out her clothes but hadn't found them.  For that reason alone, she had stayed in the room.

            She ran over to it.  Inside, she found silk dresses hanging in its dark depths.  Apryl had never been fond of dresses, in fact she hadn't worn one since the seventh grade and that she had only done for a project.  But even with no appreciation of them, these took and held her breath.  Hurriedly, she shut the cabinet.  They were too gorgeous.

            Apryl looked around the room, thinking.  _What do they expect me to do when they go and take my clothes? _she wondered irritably.  Finally, coming to no better conclusion--in fact, no conclusion whatsoever--she shrugged, turned, and made her way from her room to the hall Gandalf and her had traipsed along the night before.  There was only one person she was certain she could find.  

            She found the room with little difficulty and peeped around the corner.  

            The bed was empty.  

            Frowning, Apryl walked into the room and peered around.  Surely he wouldn't be well enough to be up and about, would he?

            "Pippin?" she called finally.

            There was a splash, a curse, a thud, and then a moan.

            Startled, Apryl ran forward to where the noise had come from--on the other side of the bed.  As she came around, the balcony came into view and, along with it, a fallen hobbit.  He lay on the wet wood, staring up into the sky, rain falling down to drench his clothes and curls.

            With a cry, she ran over to him. 

            "Pippin?  Oh, Pippin, I am so sorry.  Are you alright?"  She knelt down beside him.

            "You know," he gasped, looking up into the sky.  He blinked as rain fell into his eyes.  "That . . . kind of hurt."

            Gently, she placed her hands on his shoulders.  "You shouldn't be outside.  Let me help you up."  She started to pull him up but he placed a stalling hand--scared--upon her leg.

            "No," he said, and she hesitated.  He didn't look at her but stared up into the sky, as if he sought something high in its dark depths.  Suddenly, he smiled.  "It feels good."  His body, which had been tense (probably from the fall), relaxed.

            Apryl looked doubtful.  "Pippin, I don't--"

            He turned his gaze from the heavens and his gray eyes met her's.  He smiled reassuringly.  The doubt left her eyes and she returned his smile.  

            "Are you sure you want to lay here, though?"

            "Positive."

            "Alright," she said, sitting down and then laying next to him.  The rain soaked through her shift almost immediately.  A shiver wracked her body but she smiled nonetheless.  She liked this, lying in the rain next to someone, just because.

            Pippin, seeing this, struggled to sit up.  "You don't have to--" he began.

            "It's alright," she told him, bringing her hands behind her head.  "I like the rain.  Besides, it helps your burns."

            He lay back down, nodding and sighing.  "That's why I came out here in the first place," he explained.  "I woke up from the burning and the rain seemed so inviting.  It doesn't rain too much were I come from, it only sprinkles now and again.  But it cools the burning."

            Apryl bit her lip.  She would have apologized then, would have done it a thousand times, had she thought Pippin knew it was her that caused his pain.  He didn't, though; there was no way for him to.

             Pippin chuckled.  "I didn't expect to be lying in it, though."

             She forced the unpleasant feeling from her system; knowing there was nothing she could do for Pippin now, except perhaps to be a friend.  

            "How did you fall?" she asked, curious.  "I heard you, after I called your name."

            The hobbit blushed slightly.  "You startled me.  I didn't expect anyone to come in, not for a long while at least.  If I had known it, then I don't think I should of been out here."

            "Why not?"    

            "They're an awfully concerned bunch, these elves," he explained.  "Probably, they'd think the rain would be bad for me."

            "It probably is." 

            "Probably," he agreed.

            "But you don't care?"

            "Well, maybe.  But it helps an awful lot and I think it's worth it, even if I do get sick later.  Colds, and the like, are a lot better than this confounded burning."  He held his feet in the air and wiggled his toes, letting the rain fall onto his burns.   

            Seeing this, Apryl giggled.

            "What?"

            "Nothing," she said, trying to stifle the laughter but failing.

            "You're laughing at something," he pointed out.

            "Yes," she agreed, smiling but saying nothing.

            Pippin looked at her.  "Well?" he demanded.

            "Your feet," she said, finally.  "They're furry."

            "So?"

            The giggles turned into laughter.

            Pippin gave a sigh of exasperation.

            "I'm sorry," she gasped.  "I'm sorry.  It's nothing.  Honest."

            "Sure," was all he said.

            Once her laughter subsided, she looked at him sideways.  "Are you mad at me?"

            "Yes."

            She frowned, then looked down at her own feet.  She held one up.  "You can laugh at mine," she offered.  It was pale as the white mist around them.  She wiggled her toes and smiled.  "They're as bare as a baby's," she told him.  "At least, a hobbit-baby's."

            Pippin looked at her foot and grinned.  "You're right, you do have a babe's foot."

            She made a face at him.  "Are we even, then?"

            He grinned.  "Yeah."

            The rain poured down upon the two as they watched its descent, blinking rapidly when the water splattered on their noses and eyes.

            "I dreamt of you," Pippin said suddenly and quite unexpectedly.

            Apryl started and stared at him.

            "When I was sick, I saw you in my dreams and you healed me."  He said this all matter-of-factly, as though it didn't surprise him in the least.  "Merry told me that I got hit by magic; that I was in the way."--he gave her a crooked grin, as though to say "big surprise, huh?"--"Gandalf wanted you for a reason, I've decided and a pretty good one, too, for Gandalf is an awfully busy wizard and not one to idle with things if he doesn't have a proper reason."  He got up on one elbow and stared at her with large, gray eyes--from this close, she saw that they were speckled green.  He tilted his head at a slight angle and his eyes narrowed, as if he was peering at her from a distance and wished to see every little detail of her face.  "You called me your falcon."

            There was a blush on her cheeks as Apryl pushed herself up so she sat before him, her legs to one side of her body.  He rose to follow and both sat looking at the other.  Slowly, she nodded.  "Peregrin.  My small, fierce falcon."  In the rain, her hair was curling around her face.  

            A moment later:

            "Thank you."

            The whisper was small, soft, and almost went unheard.

            Apryl glanced over at the hobbit.  "What for?" she wondered.

            "For coming to me in that place," Pippin shuddered.  "It was very frightful."

            She nodded.  "When you left me, I was terribly alone."

            He looked at her, then reached over and slipped his small hand within her larger one.  "Don't worry," he told her, "You won't be alone anymore."  He smiled at her reassuringly.  "I promise."

            Apryl looked down at the small hand within hers and wondered if he realized the magnitude of that promise.  She doubted it.

            She squeezed his hand and he gave her a crooked smile.  "Thanks," was all she said.

            He nodded, and their hands fell away.  

            "By the way," he said, after a moment.  "What _is _your name?  You know mine, but I don't know yours."

            She hesitated.

            "Don't you know?"

            "Of course."

            "Well?"

            Again, she hesitated.  "Well . . . where I come from its . . . but then, Gandalf said . . ."  She looked wholeheartedly confused.

            "I could just call you 'milady' if you like," Pippin offered.

            She made a face at him.  "No, it sounds too, I don't know, elvish, I guess."

            Pippin nodded.

            "I suppose--"

            "_Pippin_!"

            The two jumped and turned, water flying from their noses and hair.

            Merry ran from the dry interior of Peregrin's room.

            "What _are_ you doing?" Merry demanded of his cousin.

            "Talking."

            "In the rain?" Merry wanted to know.

            "And what's wrong with that?" he demanded.  "We were just having a sensible conversation--"

            "In the rain," Merry said again.  "What's sensible about that?"

            Pippin grinned and looked at Apryl.  "He has a point."

            She smiled and nodded.

            Merry stopped short, suddenly realizing there was someone else sitting there before him.  "Apryl?" he asked hesitantly.

            "Is that your name?" Pippin sounded pleased.

            "Well, yes, but . . ." her voice trailed off as she peered at this newcomer.  _Not Frodo, _she sighed inwardly.  _Merry, then?_  

            As if he had heard her unspoken question, Pippin got to his feet--a bit awkwardly--and threw an arm around his cousin.  "This, my dear Lady Apryl, is Meriadoc Brandybuck."

            The smile that alighted Apryl's face pleased both hobbits.

            Merry dipped his head, letting blonde curls cover and hide his blue eyes.  His cheeks were stained a dusty pink.  

            "Merry," she breathed softly.

            Merry's head snapped up and Pippin looked at her curiously.  She realized her mistake a moment later but didn't care.  She got to her feet.  "I'm pleased to meet you, Meriadoc." 

            "The honor is mine, Lady."

            _Such a polite folk.  Then again, the whole lot of them are polite, even the dwarves . . . and especially the elves.  The hobbits . . . well, they're polite . . . and _darling_.   _

She smiled at him, withholding a sigh.

            _In any case, Meriadoc, you are wrong.  The honor is, indeed, mine._

            Rain fell from the sky in torrents and soon Merry, too, was drenched.  He was fully dressed however, whereas Pippin and Apryl were not.

            "Come on," he said, "Gandalf will kill the lot of us if he sees the two of you like this."

            Pippin, grinning at the thought, followed his cousin indoors, his small hand clasping the girl's so that she might follow.  In her mind, his confident words came back to her:  _"Don't worry.  You won't be alone anymore.  I promise . . ."_

With all her heart, she hoped he spoke truly.

*****

            Peregrin can be such a sweetheart.


	10. The Fall of Gil-galad

            Disclaimer:  I've said it I don't know how many times—Middle-earth belongs to Tolkien and right along with that package Tolkien owns the hobbits, elves, humans, dwarves, orcs, and wizards.  It's not mine, it's his.

*note:  And now our ever-so-lucky Apryl meets and gets 'entertained' by Meriadoc Brandybuck.  (Heehee)  Enjoy!

Ch.10

THE FALL OF GIL-GALAD

            Merry was able to get a fire going in the little hearth on the opposite wall from the bed and both Pippin and Apryl huddled around it eagerly.  Not before long, droplets of water had evaporated from their hair and skin.  Pippin found the heat suddenly unbearable.  He backed away uncomfortably while Apryl happily soaked up what warmth she could.

            "You'll never dry your clothes like that, Pip," Merry pointed out, noticing his cousin backing a good many paces from the fire.  Pippin's white night shift, which nearly reached the floor, was still sopping wet.  Apryl looked over at the younger hobbit.

            "Yes, well, its terribly warm," he said, placing his burned hands upon his wet gown.

            _To cool them,_ Apryl realized.  "It's the burns, isn't it."   It wasn't a question, for she knew.

            Pippin nodded.  "They're starting to hurt again."

            "Maybe you should lie down," she suggested.

            "Not in that wet piece, though," Merry argued and Apryl saw he was right.  "Better take it off, Pip, then you can lie down.  You'll get sick if you keep it on."  He looked around, as though thinking, then said, "I'll hang it to dry . . ."  Walking over to a chair by the bed, he dragged it over to the fire.  "Here.  We can drape it over this." 

            Pippin nodded, then yawned.  "Ahwight."

            _Aw, well, it couldn't have lasted forever._

            Apryl smiled wistfully and got to her feet.  She was making her way to the door, when Merry noticed her.  "Are you leaving?" he asked.

            She glanced back at Merry, then toward Pippin and, to her surprise, he looked hurt.  "I . . . was," she said, suddenly doubtful and a little confused.

            "But you're still wet," Merry pointed out.

            "Yes," Pippin agreed, "You're still wet."

            "Well, yes, but I thought . . . I thought you were going to sleep."  She looked at him and he shook his head.

            "You can't leave, not dripping wet as you most certainly are."  She looked down at the floor at her feet and saw tiny puddles forming.  "Stay by the fire."

            She looked over at the halfling, standing there very defiant-like and realized the picture was rather comical.  But sweet, too.  His kindness touched her.  She smiled hesitantly.  "You . . . want me to stay?"

            Pippin looked at Merry, wondering if he had heard right.  "Of course we want you to stay," Merry said, as though it should be the most obvious thing.

            She made a feeble protest, more out of habit than anything.  "But, perhaps you should rest.  You _are _tired," she added, catching Pippin in mid-yawn.

            He stifled it and smiled sheepishly.  "Wull, I'll lay down but . . ." he glanced at his cousin and smiled broadly.  "If I do fall asleep, then, Merry here will entertain you."

            Merry nodded, smiled and bowed low.  "It would be my honor, milady."

            My_ honor, Meriadoc.  Mine._

            She beamed at them.  "Alright," she said.  "I'll dry by the fire after you've laid down, Pippin.  I'll wait in the hall."

            Pippin nodded.  "I'll just be a moment, then."  Even as she disappeared around the doorframe, Pippin was pulling off the night shift.  

            Merry, watching Apryl disappear into the shadows, turned back to Pippin at the last and, spying his cousin's bare skin, sucked in a sharp breath.  For the first time, he spied the scars and blisters that covered his cousin's chest and back, arms and legs.  Merry had to fight back the tears.

            Catching the sharply indrawn breath, Pippin peered at his cousin.  "They don't hurt half as bad as they look," he assured him, smiling, but Merry saw it was forced.  He yawned.  "But they do make one awfully tired."  His jaw popped.

            Merry took the nightshirt from Pippin.  "Go lie down, then," and he draped it over the chair.  The younger hobbit stumbled sleepily over to the bed, and then crawled beneath the covers, snuggling down into their great depths, hissing in pain ever so often.  His head had hardly touched the pillow when he was snoring softly, drifting about in a dreamworld quite his very own.

            Merry wiped the tears aside and smiled softly.

            Apryl wondered vaguely what time it was.  She envied Pippin sleeping in his bed.  But she was terrible wet and the thought of lying down in wet clothing did not appeal to her in the least.  She shivered involuntarily.

            Merry grabbed a dry piece of wood from beside the hearth and placed it on the fire, watched it for a moment, then sat back in the stool he had dragged forward.  He had offered Apryl another, but she had declined; afraid the wood might catch fire, being so close to the crackling flames.  She scooted several inches closer.

            Seeing this, Merry glanced around and, spying a spare blanket draped over the end of Pippin's bed, the hobbit took it and placed it around the human's shoulders.  His light touch startled her and she flinched away.

            "Sorry," they said, speaking together.  Apryl smiled.

            "I didn't mean to startle you," Merry apologized.

            The girl shook her head.  "I was daydreaming.  It wasn't your fault."  She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders.  "Thank you."

            Merry's cheeks reddened ever so slightly and, had Apryl not been peering intently at his face, she would have never noticed.  She smiled at the sight, though, turning her gaze toward the fire.  _Am I embarrassing him?  _The thought was silly and more than a little alien to her.  She was always the one getting tongue-tied around others, not the other way around.  She didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

            He seated himself on the stool and Apryl noted that his feet touched the floor.  _I wonder if it's a footstool?  For the elves . . . _she suppressed a giggle.  Oh, how insane it was that these small creatures were for real!  _Perhaps I am in some crazy dream and when I wake I will find out otherwise.  _Whereas the thought had been meant to be on a light note, it immediately depressed her.  _God, _puh_leeez_, _don't make it so._

            She glanced over at him and felt a dull ache in her chest.  She heard Pippin's light snores and suddenly, and to her horror, felt tears pool in her eyes.  Turning her head away from Merry, Apryl rapidly blinked, hoping to dispel them.

            "Are you alright, milady?" Merry asked in quiet concern.  He saw her nod but she did not turn back around to face him.  Not yet.

            "Wh-what time do you suppose it is?" Apryl asked, her voice wanting to break and reveal her weakness.

            "A little after dawn, I think."

            "So early?" she asked, turning back to him.

            Merry studied her for a moment, then gave a reluctant nod.  It seemed something else was on his mind.  Finally, he voiced it:

            "Is something the matter?"

            She gave him a weak smile.

            _Only if this is a dream, Merry.  Only if I must wake and find this to be nothing more than an illusion created by my overactive mind.  _His brow creased in worry.  _Don't let it be so._

"No," she assured him.  "I'm just tired, I think."  And she was.  She had slept very little the night before.  _What if I should fall asleep, only to wake and fine everything had been a dream?  I have to sleep eventually-- _she reasoned, stifling a yawn.

            "Oh."  He jumped to his feet, suddenly, looking terribly sorry and wretched.  "I didn't think . . . I should have realized--but, then, hobbits _do_ get up early--excluding Pippin of course," he said offhandedly.  "Would you like me to take you back to your room?"

She smiled up at him; shook her head.  "No."__

_            --but not now.  Later . . . perhaps._

"You promised Pippin you would entertain me," she said, snuggling down into the blanket he had given her.  "I wouldn't want to rob you of that."  She grinned at him.

            He laughed.  "Nor would I want you to."  He made as if to sit back down but seemed to think better of it.  "Very well, what would you like me to do?"

            She could hardly suppress a squeal of delight.  _Meriadoc Brandybuck is asking _me_ what I would like him to do.  _Outwardly, her appearance remained calm.  "That depends entirely upon what _you _would like to do."  

            "Wull . . ."  His cheeks turned a faint pink.

            _Don't be embarrassed, Meriadoc,_ she thought, almost mournfully._  Not on my account._

"I could . . . "--he glanced over at Pippin's sleeping form, then back at Apryl--". . . sing, if you like."

            Apryl's eyes widened.__

"I-I don't have to," he said hurriedly, mistaking her reaction.  "I could tell--"

            She shook her head emphatically.  "No," she said, her voice little more than a whisper.  "Please . . . I would like that . . . very much," she breathed.  

            "Truly?" he asked, doubtful.

            She nodded, unable to speak, hardly able to breathe._  You would sing to me?  I have died and gone to heaven, I know it._

His blue eyes sparkled in unvoiced delight--farely matching Apryl's own, though her's held a fare bit of disbelief, too.  "What should I sing?" he asked.

            She didn't care; she was too overcome to care.  

            "Anything."

            Merry was silent a moment, thinking, and Apryl watched him patiently.  Finally, the hobbit looked up.  "On our way here to Rivendell, Sam--he's a friend of Frodo's--" she nodded "--sang us a song about an Elven-king.  It was very good and it's not a hard one to remember . . ."

            _Sam . . . oh, I wonder where he is.  And Frodo.  Why haven't I seen them, yet?  _But her curiosity fled just as suddenly as it had come.  She could wait.

            "Will you sing it for me?"

            "Very well," he smiled shyly, obviously pleased.  He took a deep breath, exhaled, then sang . . . .

                                                Gil-galad was an Elven-king.

                                                Of him the harpers sadly sing:

                                                the last whose realm was fair and free

                                                between the Mountains and the Sea.

            His voice was high and clear--as pure as a newborn babe and as warm as the embrace of a man grown.

                                                His sword was long, his lance was keen,

                                                his shining helm afar was seen;

                                                the countless stars of heaven's field

                                                were mirrored in his silver shield.

            She felt the tears slide down her face and did nothing to cease their flow.

                                                But long ago he rode away,

                                                and where he dwelleth none can say;

                                                for into darkness fell his star

                                                in Mordor where the shadows are.

            Slowly, his voice faded to be replaced by the murmuring approval of the rain outside.  It pattered softly upon the wooden balcony, content with where life had landed it.  Merry's gaze fell away from the gray mist outside to fall on the huddled form of Apryl before him.  And to his horror, he saw that she wept.

            "What is it?" he asked, coming to stand beside her, fearful he had somehow upset her.  "I did not mean to make you cry, milady.  Forgive me.  If you like--"

            She was shaking her head.  "No, no," she said, even as the tears streamed down her face.  "It's not you, Meriadoc," she tried to assure him.

            She looked up into his eyes and smiled.  "But, then, perhaps it is," she said thoughtfully and laughed suddenly.  But the laugh turned into a sob and she buried her head in her hands.  Her body shook.

            With a look of helplessness, Merry put his arms around her and, though at first she flinched at his touch he did not release her but held her and comforted her.  He did not understand what had so upset her, surely not the song, but he did not ask, only held.  It wasn't long before she quieted and Merry realized she had fallen asleep in his arms.  He held her for a long while after, almost reluctant to release her, before he set her gently into the depths of the blanket.

*****

            For Christmas/my birthday, I received the BBC production of LotR not to long ago and just recently I was listening to it, and the man that played the voice of Sam sang the Fall of Gil-galad.  (And, mind, it sounded _just _like him—or sounds like I think he sounds like.)  I had tears in my eyes when I listened to it, for it was like _being _in Middle-earth and actually listening to him sing.  Can you imagine if I actually was there and if Sam or, say, Merry sang a song like that?  Do you have any idea what I might do?  Anyway, that's why I put it in there and I thought it fit, what with Merry being so precious.^^


	11. A Weaver of Tales . . . or a Historian?

            Disclaimer:      I neither claim Middle-earth nor the folk, be they Fair or Foul.

Ch. 11

A WEAVER OF TALES . . . OR A HISTORIAN?

            "When will you hold the Council, Lord Elrond?" Gandalf wanted to know.  He stood before the roaring hearth in the Hall of Fire, his shoulders stooped and his staff seeming to be the only thing keeping his thin frame upright.  To an observer, such might have seemed to be the case.  Lord Elrond knew otherwise.

            "Tomorrow morning, Gandalf," Elrond answered.  "After the sun rises."  He listened for a moment, to the pattering rain outside.  He could see it fall not so far away.  "I fear our guests would find it most uncomfortable at the moment.  Let us hope for the sun's bright rays."

            Gandalf nodded, though he found the sound soothing.  The rain seemed to wash away the worries and cares from his old bones.  At least, for the moment.

            _She laughed.  "Oh, but, Gandalf, it makes me feel so alive!" She spun about, perhaps for no other reason than to annoy her mentor.  "Isn't it beautiful?"_

_            "Alright, Atira, enough of this nonsense."  Despite himself, he smiled.  She found the oddest things to her liking.  Gandalf beckoned her under the dry overhang.  "Come on out of this wretched rain."_

_            She stopped spinning to look over at him, her face alight with suppressed laughter.  She gave him a mischievous smile and shook her head.  "No."_

_            He shook his staff at her threateningly.  "Now you listen to me, young lady.  We haven't come all the way to Rivendell so you can--"  Gandalf stopped short as he was almost bowled over by a young elf running out into the storm._

_            "Sorry, milord!" he cried, hardly giving the older Istari a second glance.  He ran to the rain-drenched child.  _

_            "Glorfindel!" she cried out, her voice filled with inexpressible delight.  He lifted her high in the sky and spun her around and all the while her laughter rang out like silver bells._

            Gandalf sighed.  That had been so terribly long ago, he was surprised he could recall it so easily to mind.  Glorfindel had been an adolescent at that time, he remembered, young to most elves, though thousands of years in reality.  Atira and Glorfindel had become friends very easily and readily and though he had aged (however slowly), she had not.  Now, the elf looked well into his middle years (according to elven standards; humans nor dwarves nor hobbits could tell the age of an elf, not even by appearance) while Atira still looked to be a child, as she always had; a young lady entering womanhood.  Though, if one looked into her eyes, they would find wisdom there not even found in the eldest of humans.

            Gandalf rubbed his eyes tiredly.  Not anymore, though.  Sauron had taken that away from her.  She remembered nothing of before.  He had taken everything.

            "What is it, my friend?" Elrond asked, noting the disturbed look in the wizard's eyes.

            "Nothing, Lord Elrond, nothing," Gandalf shook his head.  "Just the tired rememberings of an old man."

            Elrond nodded in understanding.  "We all regret what happened.  Some would even say _hate_.  I do not claim such, Gandalf, but I know some who would."

            "Yes.  I would.  And Glorfindel, too, perhaps."

            "Perhaps," Lord Elrond agreed.  "Their friendship was never matched.  Nor do I think it ever will be."

            Gandalf shook his head, as though deep in thought.  "I'm not so sure, Lord Elrond."

            The half-elf looked up at the wizard.  "Indeed?"  But Gandalf did not answer, for his eyes had fallen upon a shadowed figure standing in the rain.  Quickly, it ducked out of sight.

            He hadn't meant to spy on Gandalf . . . 

            _No, don't lie, Frodo Baggins, not even to yourself.  _

He _had_ meant to spy on Gandalf.  Frodo had been home several days and he still hadn't been able to see Apryl.  He didn't really know why he wanted to so badly, maybe it was because he felt responsible.  Yes, that was it, he felt responsible to make certain she was all right.  Besides, she had been kind to him in her world; the least he could do was return the favor.  A difficult task, though, when he couldn't even find her.  Either he was asleep or she was asleep or Gandalf had his gnarled hands on her or Lord Elrond was denying the hobbits the right to see her.  It was a very exasperating matter!

            So, in a desperate attempt to find out what was going on, Frodo had searched out the House for one very deceptive old man and, when he had finally come across him, had found he and the Master of the House talking.  But if truth were told, the hobbit hadn't learned anything to his benefit.  They hadn't discussed Apryl at all . . . .

            _Or had they?  _That last bit . . . Frodo was unsure what they had been referring to.  Something about the elf, Glorfindel, and . . . someone else.  Apryl?  Perhaps.

            But then Gandalf had seen him and Frodo had thought it best to disappear.  You could never tell with wizards.

            Frodo wandered the halls, debating what to do next.  He hadn't gone far, though, when he farely bumped into a she-elf, who came around a corner at a fast pace, clear determination in her green eyes.

            "Whoa, watch it," she cautioned not unkindly, when he rebounded off her taller self.  She held out a hand to steady him.

            "F-forgive me, Lady," he stuttered, blushing to the tips of his pointed ears.  The elven folk always made him nervous and he wasn't quite certain why.  Perhaps it was for their god-like beauty and grace.  

            "Morgainne," she said, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes.  She looked down at him critically.  "Are you Frodo?" she wanted to know.

            He nodded.  "Frodo Baggins, Lady Morgainne."

            "Morgainne," she repeated, a hint of irritation in her voice.  "Just Morgainne."  But a moment later a smile crossed her lips.  "Yes," she said.  "You look exactly the way she said you would."

            " 'She', milady?" Frodo asked, confused.  Then, "I-I mean, Morgainne," for her eyes narrowed dangerously.

            The elf smiled; nodded.  "Apryl."

            Frodo's blue eyes widened.  "You've met Apryl?"

            Morgainne withheld a secretive, if sad, smile.  "Yes, little one, I have."  _In a manner of speaking.  _Morgainne hadn't seen Apryl since she'd come home.

            He frowned up at her.  "She's spoken of me?"

            "Of course.  You _are_ the one who brought her here, you know.  In fact, she's rather eager to see you again, Master Baggins."  Morgainne gave Frodo a kind, almost grateful smile.  "You did her a great service."

            "How do you mean?"

            Morgainne frowned.  "You haven't seen her yet, have you?"

            He shook his head.  "No."

            Morgainne looked down the hall, back the way she had came.  "Pity," she murmured quietly, but Frodo heard it nonetheless.  She turned her gaze back to the hobbit and smiled kindly; though her eyes were distant, sad perhaps.  "She's with your cousins."

            "Merry and Pippin!" Frodo exclaimed in surprise.

            Morgainne smiled, sudden laughter coming to her eyes.  "Yes, those _would _be your cousins, wouldn't they?"

            Frodo turned, as if to go to them right away, but Morgainne spoke:

            "She is asleep."

            "Asleep," he repeated, disappointment evident in his voice.

            Morgainne laughed.  "That doesn't mean you cannot see her.  Apryl loves her bed and if you wait for her at her own convenience, you won't ever get to see her."

            Something occurred to Frodo.  "What is she doing with Merry and Pippin?"  He frowned.  "Sleeping, you said?"

            The elf nodded and shrugged.  "Who knows with Apryl."  _But she's undoubtedly having the time of her life, asleep or not.  _Although Morgainne had never actually read the history of those in a time far ahead--a history called _The Lord of the Rings_--Apryl had more often than not expressed her absolute adoration of the hobbits.

            _"You _have _to love them.  Merry's so sweet; he's such a gentlehobbit.  And Pippin's so . . . well, Pippin!  A typical hobbit _tween_," she'd say with a laugh.  "And Sam--oh, Sam!  Look!  Look at this part," and she'd shove the book under Morgainne's nose, then take it away just as quickly--even before she could get the words into focus.  She'd never know what so enraptured her about Sam, for Apryl would already be talking of Frodo.  "I love him," she'd say, her eyes scanning something or other referring to the Ring-bearer, a great sadness--a longing perhaps--evident in her voice._

Aside from the occasional drawing (Apryl had always been quite fond of sketching people--or hobbits, as the case may be), Morgainne had learned very little of her best friend's diminutive hero.  That he was the Ring-bearer was one of the rare bits of information Apryl had mentioned.  It wasn't that her friend didn't trust her, for what was there to betray in a person that was surely fantasy?  No, Apryl had not let slip the events and outcomes of _The Lord of the Rings _because she had wanted Morgainne to witness the adventure firsthand.  She was doomed to disappointment, for the elf had never touched the book, no matter her friends urging.  The consequences, she knew, could be very great and very devastating.

            "Thank you, Lad--M-morgainne," Frodo dipped his head respectfully, then scurried on down the hall.

            Morgainne couldn't help but smile after him.

            Apryl didn't sleep very long, an hour or two at the most, but when she awoke Merry was gone.  A smile tugged at her lips as she thought of him.  

            Never in her life had she ever dreamed a hobbit would sing to her.  And not just any old hobbit--not a Bracegirdle nor a Boffins nor even a Grubb, but a _Brandybuck_!  One very special _Meriadoc_ Brandybuck, a cousin and companion to _the _Frodo Baggins.

            Apryl frowned.  _And where are you, Master Baggins?  Why haven't I seen you yet?_

She'd met him, yes--she'd even laughed with him in the rain--but that was on the Other Side; present Earth.  It wasn't the same.  Besides, she'd only realized it a second before her world had gone topsy-turvy and she'd found herself in a place that wasn't a place, in a realm that had no right being a realm.  

            She shuddered.  _What was that place?_

But Frodo had been with her then and she had talked with him, though she couldn't quite see him nor place him.  Then he had gone.  

            _I'd best find Gandalf, _she decided.  _He'll know where I might find Frodo.  If he'll tell me, _she added a moment later, as a discouraging afterthought.  But then, _Of course he will,_ she assured herself confidently.  _Why wouldn't he?  _But then, she sighed.  _Cause he knows whom you really are.  _Though she wasn't quite certain she believed she was a wizard--or wizardess?--she knew it mattered little.  She was someone from a time far in the future and she held the knowledge of events yet to come.  That was the real concern--the real danger.

            Stretching and yawning until her ears popped, Apryl got to her feet and padded softly over to Pippin, who still slept soundly.  She watched the even rise and fall of his chest for several moments and smiled fondly at him.  

            But her eyes strayed to his round face and she had to stifle a whimper.

            How much pain did he have to endure?  Even now, as she watched, a small moan escaped him, though whether it was caused by pain or ill dreams, Apryl could not tell.

            _I'm sorry, Pippin, _she told him silently; mournfully._  I _am_ sorry.  So terribly sorry._

She was reluctant to leave him but so, too, was she reluctant to remain.  She had caused him his pain, perhaps it was best to leave him be, stay away so she couldn't hurt him again.

            Apryl walked to the balcony, noting not at all that the rain had ceased, and turned at the last to look upon the hobbit.

            "I'll make it up to you," she promised softly.  "I _will_.  I promise."  She turned then and, spying a beautifully crafted staircase leading up into some great unknown of Elrond's House, her curiosity flared.  She stood there for a only a moment before, the matter decided, she ran over to them and, looking back only once, began to climb.

            _Gandalf, _she told herself, _I'll find Gandalf.  _

            The staircase led her up and around, in a curving motion that gave her a view of nearly all the grounds.  Her feet felt for and found the way, for she was too preoccupied with the surrounding beauty, her eyes wide in wonderment and awe.  

            The trees that surrounded the House appeared to be maples and cedars, in all aspects save for their size.  Apryl didn't think she'd ever seen trees so large and magnificent, branches that seemed to yearn for the playful tickle of passing clouds.  There were several flowers down close to the ground (not many, for fall was at hand) that she could never name, that were as beautiful and delicate as any she had ever laid eyes upon.

            The staircase led her to a landing, which in turn brought her to other stairs, some leading up yet again and others leading down.  She chose down.

            _Hobbits don't like heights, _she recalled.  _If I want hobbits, I'll have to first find the ground._

She made her way slowly down the steps, her eyes reluctant to leave the fabulous view.__

_            I thought you wanted Gandalf, _a more observant part of her pointed out.

            She shrugged.  _So I did.  _But she provided her other self with no further explanation.

            Apryl soon found herself in a garden.  A path of stepping-stones led her away from the stairs and she followed their lead for a time, letting her eyes wander over many a beautiful things.  It wasn't long before the meandering path led her seemingly to the very heart of the garden.  In its center there was a statue of a women--whether elven or human Apryl could not tell, perhaps a little of both.  She was tall and serene, delicate in every and all manner.  

            Apryl stared at it for several moments; there was something about her face that caused Apryl to pause.  Though the eyes were vacant in the manner of statues, there was something very different about this statue.  The girl couldn't decide for certain but it seemed to her that there was a great sadness hidden in the woman's cloudy orbs.  Apryl felt a deep sorrow when she looked upon that ancient face--for ancient it surely seemed.

            "I love to come here in the morning," a voice behind her declared, causing Apryl to start and turn.  "When the sun hits her just right, it seems she is flesh and not stone."

            It was the man from the night before, the one who had been talking with Gandalf at Lord Elrond's dinner table.  He smiled at her.

            "Forgive me," he said kindly, "I did not mean to startle you."

            Apryl shook her head, "N-no, I just didn't know anyone else was around."  She realized suddenly that she still had on her nightgown.  Her face burned red.

            The man seemed not to notice however, but moved forward to better look at the statue.

            "She's very beautiful," Apryl commented, her eyes rising to the woman's face once again.  "Who is she?"

            "I don't know," he said calmly, as though he wasn't suppose to.  "And neither do half the elves of this House, though they certainly regard her with high honor.  I suspect Lord Elrond knows, though I have never asked him."

            "She seems sad," Apryl said softly, studying the sorrowful expression.

            The man glanced at her, his brown eyes regarding her for a moment before, "You are well liked here, I have seen."

            Apryl looked at him in mild surprise.  "Me?"

            He nodded.  "I do not know what it is, but I have my suspicions.  You are special, that is obvious enough to me.  But why?"  The man raised his hand to halt any words on her part.  "It is not my business, Lady Atira," he said, then smiled, "but, then again, little is.  But I think it is not your place to tell me what I would like to know, and it most certainly is not my place to ask.  So I will refrain."

            She watched him for a moment, mildly wary, but then broke into smile.  She liked this man's manner.  "You know my name, sir, but I am afraid I do not know yours."

            He gave her a very charming smile.  "Tolkien, milady," he said with a dip of his head.  "Tolkien the Historian."

*****

            Continuation of Disclaimer:  And I most certainly do not claim Tolkien.^^


	12. Something More

            Disclaimer:  I do not claim this world for my own, nor its people.  I only write so that others might enjoy a little more of Tolkien's world.  I hope I do him a small amount of justice.

Ch. 12

SOMETHING MORE

            It _would _make sense that a man such as Tolkien existed, if Middle-earth was indeed real.  And surely it was, for was Apryl not standing upon its very soil, staring up into its very sun?  Supposedly, _The Lord of the Rings _was a fictionous story created by a British professor, J. R. R. Tolkien, in the early twentieth century.  Or so, everyone--Apryl included--had thought.  Until she had found herself standing in a world filled with elves, dwarves and hobbits, Apryl had had no reason to doubt this logical reasoning.  Even when Middle-earth had become a reality, she had never really thought beyond the simplicity that it was nothing but a parallel universe mirroring her own Earth.  It was a world floating around in a universe of nothingness.  No explanations required; it just was.

            But Middle-earth was _not _a parallel universe; it was Earth in an age long forgotten.  Hobbits, dwarves, and elves were _not _magical, make-believe characters found only by opening a door to another universe (or a man's imaginings), they were _real_; people found by opening the door to a forgotten past, nothing more.

            It just so happened that one man's recordings survived eons upon eons, was pasted down from generation to generation until one man--one John Ronald Reuel Tolkien--found the scribblings of a hundredfold great grandfather, was fascinated by the writings and published them so a fantasy-hungry population might enjoy the hidden wonders in one man's writings.  

            Did it ever occur to J. R. R. Tolkien that his ancestor had lived in a realm that did not consist wholly of humans?  Perhaps.  Perhaps not.  Apryl didn't know, merely realized that a small portion of history had made its way through time, untouched, until it was placed into the right hands, which gave the priceless information to the world.  Mayhap, in hopes that something would be remembered of the Forgotten Folk?

            Apryl didn't know.

            "Just Tolkien?" she wondered aloud, realizing a moment after that the question might appear a tad bit rude.  

            He laughed.  "And what else would you have it be, milady?" he asked, not unkindly.  "I could say the same to you, you know, and many others besides.  Of what I have heard, you are known as Atira and naught else.  Gandalf as Gandalf, and Lord Elrond as Elrond."

            "Halfelven," she corrected, before she could stop herself.  "Elrond Halfelven."

            He laughed.  "So it is.  But that is not really two names, but a matter of who he is.  A description you could say, though I wouldn't recommend it.  It is a rare case for elves to take up two names.  Rarely they do, as humans and hobbits have the odd habit of doing."

            "Your human," she pointed out.  _Why is it that your name--your _first _name, as it would seem--carried generations?_ she wondered curiously, though she did not speak her thoughts aloud.

            "Indeed, I am.  But so, too, am I a historian."  He grinned.  "Tolkien the Historian, isn't that enough for you, Lady Atira?"

            She returned his smile, a trace of amusement in her eyes.  "Yes."

            "Good--" he began, but stopped suddenly and tilted his head at a slight angle, as if listening to something only he could hear.

            "Is something the m--"

            He held up a hand.  A smile slowly alighted his face, but it suddenly sobered and a rough frown marred his handsome features.  "I do not appreciate," he said aloud, in a surprisingly commanding tone, "being spied upon.  And I would highly recommend that whosoever is doing the peeping show himself right away!"

            Apryl frowned in confusion, glancing around uncertainly.  She peeked around Tolkien's lean, but well-muscled frame.  She saw nothing, but heard something instead.  A snort, it sounded like.

            "Spying, indeed!" someone huffed indignantly.  "You have quite the imagination, Tolkien my lad."  The low-hanging leaves of a tree parted reluctantly, revealing to both man and child a path hidden in its dense greenery.  Upon the path, stood a hobbit.  A scowl marred the round face--a face touched with old age but not totally devote of youthfulness either. "I thought I'd find you here," the hobbit said, pushing the hanging branches aside and walking into the light of an ascending sun.

            "You would, wouldn't you?" Tolkien spoke lightly, and then added as an afterthought, "The way you snoop."

            The hobbit glared at the man and it wasn't until right then that Apryl realized there was no anger in his eyes.  In fact, it seemed a sparkle of laughter was hidden in the hobbit's dark orbs.  

            A smile came to her lips at the realization.

            She caught the halfling's gaze and the old hobbit's features broke into a kind smile that was much more becoming than the frown he had discarded.

            "Well," he said with a light sigh, "This must be the young lass that my Frodo collected."

            At her nod:

            "Bilbo Baggins at your service, my dear."

            Apryl felt a bit light-headed.  _Bilbo._

Within two days--less time even--she'd met Peregrin, Meriadoc, Lord Elrond, Gandalf, Glorfindel, Aragorn, numerous elves and humans and dwarves, Tolkien (who she hadn't known--in a sense--existed), and now Bilbo.  It wasn't only that but none of the introductions had been planned nor been truly proper introductions at all, but had been spontaneous things that happened quite swiftly and unexpectedly.  She'd already laughed hysterically at one occasion and cried herself to sleep in another.

            _But what can one expect when one appears in a supposedly nonexistent world?_

            "It's an honor," was all she could manage.

            Frodo came to his cousin's room quite out of breath.  First glance proved him doomed to disappointment, for none were in the room save a sleeping Pippin, his soft snores barely heard above the crackling fire.  He scanned the room for a second time as he walked within and spied a discarded blanket resting before the hearth.  A wooden stool sat near at hand, a pipe resting upon its smooth surface.  A closer inspection proved Frodo correct in his suspicions--the pipe belonged to Merry.

            But where his cousin was he had not a clue--hadn't seen him since the night before.  

            Frodo sighed in submission, finally accepting the fact that he would never see Apryl.  He seated himself upon the stool, taking up the pipe as he did so, and his eyes fell to the crackling flames.  He found himself lost in their fiery depths.

            Something cold and hard pressed against his chest, as though reminding him of its presence.  Frodo barely suppressed a shudder.  He rested his hand over it, feeling the hard lump through his garments, before a tug and a pull from something unseen got the better of him and he pulled the golden Ring from under his shirt.  He looked at it for long moments, the fire making it twinkle in a hellish sort of way--in a fascinating sort of way.

            "Frodo?"

            The hobbit started, dropped the Ring back under his shirt--hiding it from view.  He turned.

            "Pippin," he said.  He smiled weakly, as if guilty of some crime.

            Peregrin sat on the elven bed, regarding his cousin suspiciously.

            "How are you feeling?"

            Pippin did not answer, but continued to look Frodo over.

            The older hobbit got to his feet and came to his cousin's bedside, letting shadowed thoughts of the Ring vanish.  He peered at his cousin, not liking the scars that marred his youthful face.

            "Are you alright?" Frodo asked.

            Pippin frowned.  _I could ask you the same, Cousin.  _But, for once, he kept his opinion to himself.  "Aye," he nodded, and his eyes fell to two vacant spots before the fire.  

            "Where are Apryl and Merry?" he wondered lightly but got a reaction from his cousin quite unexpected.

            With a sigh--and something akin to a whimper--Frodo let his knees buckle beneath him and fell to the floor with an undignified thud.

            "Frodo!" Pippin blurted, and scrambled to the side of his bed--a very large bed, mind, it being made for elves and not hobbits--and peered over.  "Frodo?" he called tentatively.  Frodo stared up at him with unblinking blue eyes.  "Frodo, what is it?  What's wrong?"

            It seemed the hobbit saw nothing--nothing, that is, visible to anyone else in that room, for his thoughts were far away.  But his mouth moved and he spoke in a very tired manner.  "You always _were_ one to point out my misfortunes."

            Pippin crawled from the bed and leaned over his cousin.  "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, honestly.

            Frodo sighed, "I guess I'm just tired."  Blinking, his eyes came into focus.  He smiled crookedly.  "Traveling to and from worlds is very taxing, Pip."

            Pippin smiled hesitantly, knowing there was more bothering Frodo than his cousin was letting on.  But he said naught of it.  "Well, I should say so, Cousin,"--he reached down and helped Frodo to his feet--"though I wouldn't mind trying it one of these days.  Do you think Gandalf would let me?"

            Frodo laughed, let Pippin support him for a moment.  "Not on your life--or more appropriately, _his _life."

            Pippin sighed.  "No, I suppose not."  But there was laughter in his eyes.

            Frodo grinned.  "Get back in bed, Pippin; you're ill, remember?"

            Pippin glared at the bed.  "I'm getting to despise that thing," he declared, but grimaced in pain not a moment later.  He sighed and shook his head.  "But I suppose it's not so very bad," he added, with not a whole lot of conviction in his voice.

            "Does it hurt very much?" Frodo wondered, as his cousin crawled back into bed.

            Pippin eyed his fellow hobbit for a moment, as if weighing his worth, and then, slowly, nodded.  "It sometimes feels like there's a fire within me consuming me from inside out.  It hurts a terrible lot."

            Frodo frowned.  "Have you told Lord Elrond?"  At Pippin's shake of the head, his frown deepened.  "Why?" he demanded.

            "Oh, Frodo," Pippin sighed, "Don't you think Lord Elrond has enough to deal with, what with the Ring coming here and all?  For if Gandalf's so concerned over it must hold _some _value, mustn't it?  And Apryl--there's something about her that I can't quite place, but regardless, she came from another world.  Another _world_, Frodo.  Compare that with several insignificant burns."  He shook his head.  "No, I haven't told Lord Elrond, but can you blame me?"

            "Yes, I can blame you," Frodo snapped.  "Pippin, you're not thinking this through.  These burns are not _insignificant_, as you so name them.  They're not normal, Pip."

            "Burns are burns, Frodo," Pippin shrugged.  "And even so, Apryl healed me and--"

            Frodo scowled.  "Listen to me.  They are _not _normal.  Gandalf said--"  He stopped.  "What'd you say?"

            "I said 'burns are burns.'  Mine aren't special, Frodo, and I'm sure there's some reasonable explanation for the pain I'm feeling."  Suddenly, he frowned.  "What did Gandalf say?"

            Frodo shook his head.  "No, after that.  What did you say about Apryl healing you?"

            Pippin opened his mouth, blinked, then cursed himself.  He hadn't meant to say anything about that.  The whole matter in itself made very little sense but, regardless, it was something that Pippin didn't like to talk about.  That place had frightened him terribly so and, even though she had come to him there; it was all too fresh in his nightmare-filled dreams.  The nightmares--he refused to tell a soul of those, too, for such things only alarmed hobbit-children, not grown hobbits such as himself.  

            "When I was real sick, Apryl healed me," he said, nonchalantly, hoping Frodo would drop the matter.  He didn't.

            "But she still slept," Frodo argued, "when your fever broke.  She couldn't possibly . . ." his voice trailed off as remembrance dawned on his face.  Frodo looked at his younger cousin.  "After your fever broke, Gandalf told Merry and I that if it hadn't been for Apryl you would have died," he said, faltering at the last when Pippin's face drained of color.  "It wasn't fire that hurt you, Pip, it was _magic_.  And Apryl healed you."

            "I--I don't understand.  If it was magic that did this to me," he held up his hands, the scarred blisters contrasting sharply with his tanned skin, "then Apryl must have healed me with . . ."

            "With magic," Frodo finished.  "But human's don't wield magic--_can't _wield magic."

            "Gandalf," Pippin said, but Frodo shook his head of dark curls.

            "Gandalf's not mortal."

            "You don't know that," Pippin argued.  "Besides, we've never seen him use magic.  Perhaps all he's good for is fireworks," he said with a shrug.  "We don't know."     

            "Gandalf's _not_ human, Pip," Frodo said firmly.  "I know it.  Bilbo's seen Gandalf use magic and Gandalf's told _me_ that he's used magic."

            Pippin looked at Frodo questioningly.

            "At the Ford," was all he said.

            "The White Horses," Pippin breathed and Frodo nodded.  They were silent for several moments.  

            "Gandalf wanted you to bring her for some reason, Frodo," Pippin said finally.  "I suppose that there's something more to her than any of us know, save perhaps Gandalf."

            At length Frodo nodded.  "I think you're right, Pippin.  She does seem different, somehow, though I've talked to her little enough."  He sighed.  "I should like to see her again."

            Pippin grinned smugly.  "I've seen her, and talked with her, too."

*****

            *note:  I know some of you are getting a little impatient waiting for Apryl to see Frodo again, but bear with me just a little longer.  He's coming, I swear it!


	13. To Wish

            Disclaimer:  I claim nothing of that which has come from the mind of Tolkien.

Ch. 13

TO WISH

            Bilbo seemed to be the first to notice her outfit, and if not, then he was certainly the first to voice it.  He made it not a rude comment on her part, only seemed shocked and disturbed at the lack of attention the elves had provided her.  But Bilbo held no ill will against them, for a lot had been on Lord Elrond's mind of late and, even if Bilbo had not a clue to what it might be, he could understand everyone's distraction.  

            Seeing the child--a short lass by human standards--in naught but a thin nightshirt, he firmly decided that she needed taking care of--of which he would do nicely.  And so Bilbo took the lass to a fair elfmaiden--whom the hobbit had grown fond of over the years he had been staying at Elrond's--and she was more than pleased to help the two.

            "Oh, I shouldn't look right in that," Apryl said, her eyes wide in wonder and awe.  Easily, it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen and the mere thought of the silken dress on her clumsy self terrified her to no end.  "I-I couldn't," she protested.

            "Nonsense," the elf lady laughed, "It brings out the color in your eyes."

            _What color? _Apryl wondered, but only to herself.  When she had been younger her eyes had been a deep blue, rich and vibrant, but over the years the color had slowly drained away until they were naught but gray, like the ocean before a storm.  

            "Indeed, Apryl my lass," Bilbo agreed, quite pleased, "It should look splendid upon you."

            The dress _was_ a splendid thing, long and elegant, blue like the depths of a river, with silver lining that was pleasing to the eye.  Apryl--not a fan of dresses by a long shot--fell in love with it.

            "Please, my dear," Bilbo said, noting the reluctance in her eyes.  "Put a smile on an old hobbit's face."

            Apryl looked down at him in surprise.  He smiled at her kindly and all she could do was hesitate a moment longer, before nodding to the elven woman.

            "I would be honored," she said, never more sincere.

            Pleased, the old hobbit clapped his hands.  "Very well," he said, "I shall leave you ladies to do your thing and perhaps I might just find my nephew, Frodo.  He should like to see you, I think, and since I know where youare all I have is to find where heis."  He noted that her eyes alighted with obvious excitement.  "A difficult task perhaps, but one that is not too great for _the _Bilbo Baggins," he added with an absent chuckle, turning to leave and, before she could say aught--thank him or otherwise--he was gone from the room, moving very fast for such an old hobbit.

            The elfmaiden laughed.  "Such is our dear Bilbo," and Apryl saw that she was smiling after the hobbit in a fond sort of manner.  

            It took only a few moments for the elf to help her slip into the gown, and when she looked at herself in a full-length mirror Apryl was surprised with what she saw.  No longer did she see a girl who bore a sad, wistful expression--a girl who wore jeans and an overlarge jacket just to hide within--but, instead, a young woman whose eyes were alight with some unrecognizable emotion.  Apryl didn't recognize this person and wondered if this was the Lady Atira that Gandalf and all the elves seemed so fond of.

            She glanced over at the elven woman.  "It's beautiful," she said softly.  "Thank you."

            "Nay, my dear," the elfmaiden said.  It seemed there was a joyful sadness in her eyes.  "_You_ are what is beautiful, but you should not need me to tell you such."  She looked at the young Istari, older than her by countless millennium, and offered her a comforting smile. 

            Before Apryl could say aught:

            "But it is not done," the elf said, turning.  "We could not have you walk around with naught on your feet.  You are not a hobbit."

            Apryl remembered that she wore nothing upon her feet.  She'd been running around with no shoes on she had awoken the night before and she'd become so accustomed to the lack of shoes that she had forgotten otherwise.

            "Here," the elfmaiden produced a pair of slippers the color of her dress.  She slipped them on.

            There was a knock on the door.

            "Come in," the lady called and the door swung open upon silent hinges.

            A young elf stepped in.  "Lord Elrond wishes the Lady Atira to join him for breakfast."  He looked at Apryl expectantly.  She glanced at the elfmaiden who gave a modest nod of her head and an ever so visible smile.  Apryl turned to the elf and nodded.

            "I'd be honored," she said kindly. 

            Elrond debated upon intervention but at the last decided against it.  The she-elf paid him no mind, anyhow, but merely continued her pacing.

            "I don't see why we have to do this now," she said at one moment.  Then, naught a moment later, "No.  Now, for the longer I wait the madder she'll be.  She'll never forgive me, I know it."  She cursed bitterly, using a word Elrond did not recognize, though which sounded foul to his ears.  She muttered an apology, but did not cease her pacing.

            Legolas, who watched his friend with growing worry, glanced to Lord Elrond.  For what, the half-elf knew not.  He shrugged helplessly; knowing naught could be done for Morgainne's frustration and worry.

            "My dear, you are giving me a head-ache," Gandalf spoke, not unkindly.  "Would you not be seated with the rest of us?"  The she-elf paused in her pacing, though not to heed Gandalf's words but to glare at the old man with a most heated gaze.  Either stared at the other, neither quailing.  Finally, Legolas got to his feet and clasped the she-elf by a shaking hand.  Her gaze broke with the old man's to glare instead at the elf, though he did not back down and neither did he return her hated gaze but smiled at her instead.  A moment passes and small hesitant smile broke the cloud hovering over the she-elf's face.

            _She has the illness but he has the cure, _Elrond thought in mild amusement, as with no words spoken, she was calmed and brought to sit with the others. 

            Apryl followed the elf through so many intricate halls that she soon was thoroughly lost.  She tried to recall the path they took but after the second left, another right, again a right, and a left which was followed by a right at a fork and another right not five paces later, the young Istari figured matters as such were best left up to the elf.  She trusted his judgment. 

As she followed, Apryl suddenly realized that her stomach was full of butterflies and wondered at how long they had been there.  Now that she thought about it, it seemed she had had them ever since awakening in Middle-earth.  _How odd, _she mused with a secretive grin.  _But exciting._

But for all the twists and turns, it was not long before the elf brought her outside, where already the clouds were dissipating to let through the golden rays of the sun, and to a small garden set aside from the rest of the grounds.  There, both elf and Istari found a small group seated at a table.  One, a woman with hair as dark as the night, looked up at the sound of their approach and jumped to her feet.  She was followed almost immediately by a tall elf that, after several hurried steps forward, thought better of it and hung back uncertainly.

Apryl noted Lord Elrond at the head of the table and easily depicted the other as Gandalf, but she was curious at these other two, for she was too far away to tell who they might be.  Slowly, as the female approached, Elrond rose to his feet, whereas Gandalf remained seated and seemingly disinterested.  Apryl watched the lord and older Istari curiously for a moment before her gaze fell to the woman who was hurrying over.  Long before she approached, recognition dawned on the young Istari's face.

"Morgainne?" she whispered, in obvious disbelief.  She never waited for an answer though, for she knew it could be no other, and raced to her friend.  They embraced--Apryl nearly bowling her taller friend over, but neither caring--and they held on to one another for fear the other might disappear.

"Your here," Apryl laughed, clinging to her friend.  "I can't believe your here.  You're here.  _We_'re here, Morgainne, we're _here_!  Middle-earth!  God, do you believe it?"  She pulled away from her friend and looked at her, her voice falling to a whisper.  "We made it."  There were tears in her eyes.

Morgainne smiled and nodded, could not speak for the joy of finally seeing her friend alive and well.  "Yes," she said, her voice shaking ever so.  "We made it, Apryl.  Finally."  She did not know what to say--where to begin--but knew it must start somewhere.  

Yet, all that had bogged her mind down for the past several days vanished as she spied one simple little thing that amused her to no end.  "You're wearing a dress," was all she said, a hint of disbelief in her voice for she had never seen Apryl wear a dress.

Apryl blushed and nodded.  "I couldn't say no.  It's so beautiful and Bilbo seemed so bent--" she stopped, her eyes alighting with an emotion one can't quite place.

Finally, after two days of inexpressible joy, with no one to fully and truly share with, _finally_, Apryl could voice her excitement to someone who could understand why she was so excited to meet some 'everyday' hobbits.  "Oh, Morgainne, I've met them!  I've met the _hobbits_!"  She spun away from her friend, and with her arms spread wide she was nearly jumping up and down from excitement.  "I've met Bilbo and he wanted me to wear this dress and I did cause he wanted me to make him smile and of course I wanted to make him smile cause he's Bilbo, and I met Pippin--oh, God, I met _Pippin--_and we laid in the rain together and we talked and I told him that I thought he was my falcon and he promised that I wouldn't be alone and I met Merry and he sang to me--sang, Morgainne, he _sang_ to me--but then I cried cause I thought I was dreaming and I didn't want to wake up cause I think I might die if I have to leave this place and--and--and--," she took a ragged breath.  "I don't want to leave, Morgainne."

Morgainne looked down at her friend, caught her gaze and held it firmly.  She shook her head.  "You don't have to leave, Apryl, not every if you so wish it."

Apryl smiled and hugged her friend.  "I so wish it," she said and meant it with all her heart.

*****

            Sorry this one's so short.  Review for me anyway, though?  I love your guys' reviews—all the things you like (and you _can _write your dislikes too; you can only learn from mistakes—no pun intended.^^)—I appreciate 'em so much!


	14. Betrayal

Disclaimer:  Middle-earth is Tolkien's.  Middle-earth is not mine.

Ch. 14

BETRAYAL

It took the two many moments to realize that others watched them and, with Apryl's cheeks flushing a bright crimson, she looked around her friend's lithe frame to spy an elf taking a great interest in their conversation.  Her brow furrowed.

"Is that who I think it is?" she whispered to Morgainne.  She bit her lower lip and smiled.  "You were right, Morgainne, he _is _cute."

Morgainne couldn't recall for certain (she thought it was the third time Apryl was reading _The Lord of the Rings_) that her friend had mentioned Legolas.  They had been discussing role-playing characters for their D&D game.

_"I don't know," Apryl scrunched her face up in indecision.  "Elves . . . well, there--I don't know, not me, I guess.  You'd make a good elf," she told her friend, "You always do.  Come to think of it, you're _always _an elf.  Why don't you be . . ." she grinned impishly "a dwarf."  At her friend's horrified expression, Apryl nearly rolled off the bed in fits of laughter. _

_Morgainne hit her with a pillow.  "I'd rather be a goblin, thank you very much."  She looked at the character sheets.  "I'm an elf," she regarded her friend sternly and Apryl threw up her hands in submission.  She'd learned long ago that Morgainne disliked dwarves, though for the life of her she couldn't figure out why.  Personally, Apryl liked the stubborn people.  There was something about them that just appealed to her (perhaps it was that soft-heartedness they all possessed, though hide extraordinarily well).  In any case, she preferred dwarves to elves and had told Morgainne as much many a time.  She told her again.  _

_A little to late, Apryl covered her face as another pillow was launched in her direction._  

_"I _might _consider an elf," she grinned, her eyes glazing over in thought, "if, say, he were a charming elven prince."  _

_Morgainne snorted.  "Stuck-up, is what you mean.  I'll stick with the dark rogues," she said with a mischievous grin, "They're more my type."_

_Apryl looked hurt.  "Legolas isn't stuck-up."_

_Morgainne nearly fell off the bed._

            Since then, Morgainne had constantly inquired about Legolas, though she had tried to remain as discreet as possible.  But Apryl had told her nothing, for seeing the twinkle of interest in her friend's eyes she had hoped to hook her by why of the elven prince.  She hadn't though, for Morgainne had refused to touch the book.

            Morgainne looked uncertainly over her shoulder and spied Lord Elrond watching her.  He gave her a meaningful glance and that's all she needed.  "Come on, Apryl, I want to talk to you," she said softly.

            Apryl glanced at her friend in surprise, noting the odd tone in her voice.  She said naught, however, only nodded.  As the two turned from the group, Apryl saw Gandalf get to his feet and leave.  She wondered at this, for she did not like to see the old man upset.

            _He's angry with me, I just know it.  _That alone hurt more than anything, though she did not understand why.

            Morgainne followed a path she had traipsed more times than she could remember.  It led beyond the boundaries of the Last Homely House if one went to its entire lengths and the she-elf had many of times.  This time, though, she merely wanted to get away from her kindred so that she might speak privately with her friend.

            They walked in silence for awhile and, though Morgainne suspected her friend was bubbling with excitement, the dismal mood that now hung over them caused Apryl a moments pause.  She didn't understand her friend's secretive manner and finally spoke of it.

            "Is everything alright?" Apryl asked tentatively; worriedly.

            Morgainne didn't answer.

            "Morgainne?"

            When she didn't answer again, Apryl stopped dead in her tracks.  Morgainne continued on for several paces then, too, stopped, turned, and looked at her friend.

            "Something's the matter," Apryl said, a hint of exasperation--perhaps anger--in her voice.  She did not understand what was the matter, for together they had always dreamed of going to another world and finally they had made it.  Morgainne should be happy, not . . . not whatever she was being!  

            _Perhaps there is some truth in what Gandalf was telling me.  _She mused on all Gandalf had spoken to her--things about the Istari Atira being kidnapped by Sauron and destroyed.  Or, not destroyed, for something had gone wrong--or so Gandalf had said--and Atira had not been destroyed but merely banished.  

            "Yes," Morgainne spoke finally, causing Apryl's daydreams to shatter.  She looked over at her friend.  "I need to tell you something."  

            Apryl waited but when Morgainne did not continue, she encouraged her friend.  "What is it?  Morgainne . . ." she looked long at her friend and sensed a growing anxiety.  "Tell me, please.  If your afraid--"

            "I _am _afraid," Morgainne said, her voice surprisingly strong in her own ears.  "Oh, Apryl, you're going to be upset and I'm not going to make you promise otherwise but--but this is hard."

            "I don't understand," Apryl said in confusion.  Morgainne had always been the strong one; the one Apryl could count on in times of need.  She had always had a way about her that put everything else at ease but now she seemed so . . . so _unsure_.

            Morgainne shook her head mournfully.  "Apryl, there are things . . . things I've never told you . . ."

            They had told each other _everything_.

            "What are you talking about?" Apryl asked, sudden fear coming to her voice.

            "Aren't you curious in the least as how I got here?" Morgainne asked, her voice holding a slight tinge of anger.  She wasn't angry with Apryl, though, for she had never been angry with Apryl.  The heated words that came pouring out were aimed at herself, not Apryl.  "Didn't you ever wonder why I'd never touched that book of yours?  Didn't you find it strange that you never met my parents, though we were friends for almost four years?  Or that I never went to school?  Didn't you wonder at the odd way my ears point or the slant in my eyes?  Didn't you ever wonder, Apryl?"

            "You--you said--" she began, startled at the vehemence in her friend's voice and frightened at what Morgainne was proposing.

            _"I'll read it as soon as I'm done with this book . . . They're drunks, Apryl, you don't want to meet them . . . they won't let me back in, not after the last stunt I pulled . . . I get them from my mom's side, my grandmother, I think . . ."_

The explanations had all been so simple and Apryl had never doubted them.

            _You're too damn trusting.  _

            It wasn't true, though, and Morgainne knew it.  Apryl had never been all that trusting towards anyone--not her mother, not her father, nor even her "friends" at school.  She didn't trust anyone, had never trusted anyone--no one, that is, except for her best friend.  _And that's your downfall, Apryl--your weakness.  You shouldn't have trusted me._

If Morgainne had had her sword resting comfortably on her hip, she would have hewn something.  She didn't know what, but she would have cut something--anything.

            "I'm not of Earth, Apryl.  I'm not even human.  I'm an Eldar--an elf," Morgainne said, the anger masking her true emotions.  She was terrified but could not, _would _not, let Apryl see it.  She didn't want to be hurt but, in denying it, it could not be so.  "I was sent by Gandalf seventeen years ago to look after you--to watch you, and then befriend you in hopes that we might one day be able to bring you home."  Morgainne stopped, looked at her friend, and wished above all else that she might say something.

            Apryl didn't, though--she said nothing.

            But Morgainne saw the hurt--the betrayal--in her gray eyes.

            Finally:

            "Everything--" she faltered, her voice shaking.  "I don't--"  _"I was sent . . . to befriend you . . ."  _Apryl's world seemed to collapse around her.  All stability diminished in those small words.  It hurt . . . it hurt so very bad.  

            She turned then, away from someone who had meant the world to her.  Morgainne had been everything and more to Apryl and she couldn't even begin to count how many times her best friend had put an ever-so-needed smile upon her face, or had stayed the appealing edge of a sharp blade.  But--but it had all been a lie.  A betrayal, a slap in the face.

            Apryl turned and walked from the path, not too certain were she went, but not caring all that much either.  There were no tears; there was nothing save a vast numbness.

            Morgainne watched as Apryl turned away--watched as something unseen slammed down between them--but never called out or did ought.

*****

            Yes, yes, Frodo's coming, for I haven't forgotten him—not in the least!  But have _you _all forgotten about our Samwise?

            And, _no_, Magda, I haven't forgotten our Pip.  It's just, well, magic can be a terrible thing and—well, just hang in there for a little longer, k?  I'm afraid Pippin's trials are far from over, though, neither he nor Apryl are yet aware of the severe consequences that lie ahead.  


	15. Of Water, Air, and Light

            Disclaimer:  All of you who are reading this ought to know by now that I take no credit whatsoever for those of Middle-earth and neither am I gaining money from this fic or anything else of the kind.  This is merely for my entertainment and I suppose for yours, too.  So don't get upset at me if I don't write any more Disclaimers.  They get terribly old after a while . . . .

            *note:  And, now, who enters the tale?  Yup, our very own blue-eyed, soft-voiced, and too-shy hobbit, Frodo Baggins.  ::sigh::  Though I must say, their reunion does not . . . well, you'll see.

Ch. 15

OF WATER, AIR, AND LIGHT

            Samwise couldn't remember exactly how long ago they had arrived, but he thought it was a little over a week ago.  Usually, the young Gamgee was a fairly decent chap at keeping the days in straight order but the last several weeks had been a terrible time and one that Sam didn't readily like to think about and so he had forced them from his thoughts and decided, quite firmly, that if anyone wanted to know the days of the week, well, then they'd just have to ask some other hobbit, for Samwise Gamgee didn't know, didn't want to know, nor did he care.

            The hobbit forced a chuckle.  _Easy there, Sam, no need getting all upset over things that are past and through.  Mister Frodo's well enough now.  Everything's fine._

Everything was fine, too.  What with the Black Rider's far from Rivendell, they were hard to bring back to mind.  Well, at least in the light of the day.  At night, though . . .

            Sam shuddered.  He'd found ways to keep dark thoughts away during the day and he supposed that would have to do for now.  He'd learned to enjoy the sun a fair amount more than he ever had after the incident at Weathertop and that's saying a lot, for he was a gardener and what's more to a gardener than the glorious rays of the sun--the life source of all living things.

            Even now, Sam walked the many gardens of the House of Elrond, enjoying the interwoven smells and sounds created by trees and wind and water and light.  Yes, the sun had a smell, too, though few enough stopped to think about it.  Sam did, though, and for reasons such as simple as those was why Frodo loved Sam as he did.

            Sam sighed.  _Ah, Mister Frodo, I've seen the elves and now all I want is to go home.  I've had enough adventure and I don't doubt you have, too._

Sam wasn't sure how long he had wandered the labyrinthine gardens before he spied the girl sitting next to the pool, but it couldn't have been so terribly long for the sun wasn't even halfway up the sky.  Apryl sat alone near the water's edge, her dress pulled up around her knees and her feet dangling in the cold, crystalline waters.  Sam approached hesitantly, curious at this odd spectacle, for autumn was at hand and winter well on its way.

            What was a maiden doing with her feet dipped in ice cold water?  Sam, being a fairly straightforward hobbit, deemed it only right that he ask, but as he was about to inquire of her odd behavior a twig snapped beneath his hairy feet and he cringed at the thunderous _crack!_ it made in his hobbit ears.

            The girl, startled, looked up, and Sam saw a hollow look in her eyes as she regarded him and then seemingly disinterested she turned back to look again at nothing.  He was taken aback for a moment at the emptiness in her eyes and a swell of pity enveloped his chest, as it seemed to him that she looked as one who had just lost their best friend.  

            He regarded her silently for a moment before, "Is everything well, milady?"  He supposed it was not his place to pry but, then again, one did not come across another who seemed lost and without hope and carry about their business as if nothing was amiss.

            The ironic thing about Samwise's reasoning, though, was that was exactly what Apryl expected him to do--carry on down the path, pass beyond the corner, and never give her a second thought.  Wasn't that what most people did?  It never occurred to her that those of Middle-earth held a different moral standard than those of her own Earth.

            She looked over at him, regarded him anew.  "I'm fine," she said, knowing she lacked conviction but not really caring.  If she gave him the answer he wanted to hear--or at least she _thought_ he wanted to hear--than he would let her be and, though she knew this hobbit could be none other than Samwise Gamgee and her spirit cried out for joy her heart had other ideas and just wanted to be left alone.  

            Sam frowned; for it was obvious she was anything but well.  Stepping forward, he made as if to protest (though the logic of telling another how they felt never really occurred to Sam but, then again, neither did lying when all he wanted was to offer help.)  

            The hobbit never saw the root, his eyes being too intent upon the girl, and afterwards he was unsure whether there had ever been one, but something caused him to trip.

            Sam cried out as he fell, his arms flying out to stay the pain he knew must come but failed, for the rock caught him on the jaw and the darkness came.

             Apryl eyes widened as he tripped and she got to her feet instinctively but with the sickening smack of Sam connecting with the rock she cried out in horror and leapt for him.  His still body slipped from the rock and with a splash he fell beneath the clear water.

            When Apryl had first found the pool, she hadn't thought it very deep, for it was so clear and she could see the bottom, but when Sam lost his balance and fell she saw she had been terribly mistaken.  The water was clear, yes, but it was also very deep.  Just how so, though, Apryl didn't realize until she ran to the edge, knelt, and reached for Sam.  Not only did her fingers not touch the bottom but they didn't even brush the curls on the hobbit's head.  Water could be a very deceptive thing.

            More falling than diving, Apryl shoved herself off the bank and dove under the water.  Her arms were ever outstretched so that she might grab Sam as deeper she chased the sinking hobbit but her gown tangled in an underwater root and not for the first time in her life Apryl cursed dresses as a whole and kicked and fought the thing that wished her to fail Sam.  No matter her anger, though, the fabric was relentless and she could not fight it away.  Panic seized her.  

            _This is all wrong!  First Pippin and now Sam.  What have I done?!_

            Her lungs screamed for air and through the bright spots that flared in her skull she could see Sam--a trail of floating, dancing blood and water all that separated the two.

            _No!  I'll not do to you what I did to Pippin!_

            With finger's that burned with the cold, Apryl fought her way from the entrapped clothing, ripping the fabric from her numb body.  In naught but her undergarments, she caught Sam by his tunic and--slowly, difficultly--swam toward the light.  She broke the surface in a coughing sputter, water running from her mouth and nose.  Gasping, she hauled Sam to the bank, grasped a hanging branch in shaking fingers.

            Even as she held the hobbit to her body and clung to the branch, Apryl pressed her cheek near his mouth, blood from his split lip smearing across her face, and prayed for the touch of soft breathing.  There was nothing.  Choking back a sob, the Istari tried to feel for a pulse but both her hold on the hobbit and the branch were precarious and she could not risk losing either.  

            Her body's warmth was being sapped from her even as she struggled to pull herself onto the bank, her arms shaking from the strain.  At the last, her foot slipped and she fell back into the water with a splash, her grip tightening on the hobbit as they both tumbled back into the pool and nothing saving either save the branch that was still within her desperate grasp.  She clung there, taking in great gulps of air.

            "Sam--Sam, please, wake up--please," she sobbed, tears of frustration intermingling with droplets of water and blood.  "I--I can't--"  Again she struggled and fought for purchase on the bank but received nothing despite all her effort.

            "I--I can't--" and she cried.

            _"I miss home, Mr. Frodo," Sam said mournfully, staring out into the night.  The sky was alighted with stars.  Standing beside Sam, Frodo nodded sadly._

_            "So do I, Sam," he agreed, however reluctant.  "I didn't suppose I'd ever . . . but, well, I miss Bag End."_

_            Sam nodded.  "I, too, Mr. Frodo.  And the garden."_

_            Frodo looked at his friend.  "Garden, Sam?  But there is more garden then ever you will find at Bag End right here under your nose.  Wonderful gardens," he said softly, for it was only too true.  Though he'd had nothing more than a slight glimpse he'd seen from a distance that they were beautiful.  Even at the eve of autumn. _

_            Frodo smiled.  "Tell you what, Sam.  In the morning you and I shall have a good look at these Elvish gardens and then we shan't ever miss tired old Bag End again.  What do you say, my friend?"_

_            "Oh, don't say that, Mr. Frodo," Sam pleaded, frowning.  "I shouldn't like to not miss Bag End, sir.  It is your home."_

_            Frodo's eyes clouded over.  "No, not any more.  You forget; I sold it to the Sackville-Bagginses.  It's no longer my home."  He looked to his friend and smiled a tired sort of smile.  "I would just like the sting to hurt a little less is all."_

_            Sam rested a hand on his master's shoulder, gave it a comforting squeeze.  "I'd like to see these elf gardens," he said softly._

_            Frodo looked at his fellow hobbit, sighed, and smiled weakly.  "Tomorrow, then?"_

_            Sam nodded.  "In the morn."_

            Frodo smiled down at his younger cousin who slept contently upon the elven bed, soft snores the only thing disturbing the silence.  Carefully and as quietly as possible, Frodo crawled down from the bed and made his way outside, blinking in the rays that fell from the sky.  The late morning sun twinkled gaily on droplets of water that lay sparkling on the green leaves, for the rain clouds had passed and the sun was out.  He stepped out upon the wet grass and looked at all the beauty that presented itself.

            _I shan't miss Bag End.  I shan't miss it._

            Frodo followed a well-trodden path into the shade of several large trees, deciding he should walk a while before he met Sam and clear his head and rid his heart of the sadness that seemed to have taken up residence in his chest.

            Frodo hadn't walked very far when he heard the faint sound of--

            The hobbit strained his ears.

            _Screaming?_

Frodo ran.

            "Help!" Apryl yelled.  Her left arm shook from fatigue and her right trembled from the cold--she fought to keep Sam close.  "Somebody!"  The knuckles of the hand that grasped the branch were white, almost blue.  Her teeth chattered and for the first time she noticed the white mist coming from her mouth.

            Sam's face was deathly pale and his lips were blue, and Apryl still couldn't tell if he lived but prayed it was so.

            "Wake up, Sam, wake up," she begged.  "Please, wake up."  But as before, she received no response.

            Apryl turned her face away, looked out into the woods and yelled, "Godammit, _somebody_ help us!  Please, help!"

            _Sound carries better than words, _she realized suddenly and--taking a deep breath--screamed as loud and as high as her tired lungs would allow.  Naught seconds later, she broke off in a fit of gasping and coughing when stars flared in her vision and darkness crept before her eyes.

            _No, no!_

"Apryl?!"

            Apryl forced her eyes open, realizing only afterwards that they had been closed and spied a hobbit racing down the path Sam had come from an eternity--or was it only moments?--before.

            "_Frodo_!"  The cry was filled with relief and joy and disbelief, and she fought again to free herself from the water's icy grip.  "It's Sam!  He's not breathing!"

            Frodo's smooth features twisted into fear as he skidded to a halt at the water's edge.  He reached down and, grasping his friend by the tunic, hauled him up and over the edge of the bank and laid him out upon the grass.  

            As Sam fell away from her grasp, Apryl reached out and grabbed the bank, her fingers clawing for purchase, for she had not the strength to pull herself out and only clung there, watching Frodo search for a pulse with eyes wide in desperate hope.

            An eternity lived, then--was born and then died.

            _Do not die, Samwise, you cannot!  Please!  You mustn't!_

            "He's alive!" the hobbit cried out in triumph, his ear to Samwise's chest.

            "H-he isn't b-b-breathing," she protested weakly, her teeth chattering from the cold.

            Without a word, Frodo put his mouth over his Samwise's and breathed a breath of air.

            _Breathe, Sam._

Frodo pulled back, put an ear to Sam's mouth and listened.

            Nothing.

            Another breath.

            _Come back to me._

            He listened.

            Nothing.

            "T-t-tilt his head back," Apryl sobbed, the tears streaming down her face, washing away the blood--Samwise's blood.  

            Frodo tilted the gardener's head back.

_            What did Mrs. Steven's say about CPR?  What are the steps?  What do you do?  _Apryl cursed bitterly, fear cold and hard lying heavy in her heart.  _It's been too long!  I cannot remember!_

Frodo leaned over Sam, placed his lips over his friend's mouth, and breathed for a third time.

            _Don't leave me, Sam._

Tears streaming down his cheeks, Frodo listened.

            Nothing.

            "Don't leave me," the hobbit sobbed, his voice cracking at the last.__

Another breath.

            _My friend._

Nothing.__

Frodo held his manservant, cried for his companion, and breathed life into his friend.

            _Please, Sam, I need you._

Nothing.

            Apryl clawed at the grass, then, trying with all that was in her to go to Sam, for Frodo cried freely now and without care and she could see despair coming to his eyes.  But her legs had long ago become numb and her arms weak, and the effort was too great.

            Another breath.

            _Don't leave me . . . ._

            Samwise coughed.  His body arched and water gushed forth from his blue lips, washing away the last traces of blood.  Frodo cried out in surprise, then joy, for his Samwise lived, though death had danced nearby.  He laughed through his tears and held his Sam, smiling brightly as the gardener's eyes fluttered open and looked about in confusion.

            "M-mr. Frodo?" he asked weakly, his voice naught but a hoarse croak.

            "Aye, Sam, 'tis me," Frodo said, and he took his friend's chill hand in his own and kissed it.

            Sam looked around, though he moved not, for his limbs felt as heavy as lead.  "W-what's happened?" he wondered and spied Apryl, who had laid her head against the bank in relief and closed her eyes.

            _Thank you, God.  Thank you, thank you, thank you._

"Oh, dear," Sam gasped, struggling to sit up.  Apryl opened her eyes as Frodo shoved his dear friend back.

            "You lie still, Sam," Frodo told him.  "Lie still."          

            "But the girl," he protested, weakly.  His concern, though strong, was no match for his hurts.  Apryl opened her eyes and, seeing the struggling Sam, shushed him with a reassuring smile.

            "I'm fine, Sam," she said, nearly laughing at the absurdity of it all.  Here he was concerned for _her_, and he was the one that had almost died.

            _Such is our Master Samwise._

"Are you alright?" she asked weakly.

            Sam looked around in a dazed sort of manner.  "It's all spinnin', Mr. Frodo, and my head hurts an awful lot."  He grimaced, and then shivered.  "It's c-c-cold," he chattered.

            Apryl smiled a smile that held little humor.  "Y-yes, it is."

            Frodo stumbled to his feet, weak and weary, for the ordeal had sapped him terribly and he was nearly as pale as Sam.  "Take my hand," he said, reaching out to her.

            Her eyes widened slightly and she shook her head emphatically, never releasing her hold on either the branch or the bank.  Her teeth chattered crazily and as Frodo took a step forward in confusion, she hunched in the water until its icy touch lapped at her chin.  "D-d-don't," Apryl said and the hobbit stopped suddenly, confusion marring his smooth features.  "I--m-my dress," she glanced down into the water, "It wouldn't--I c-c-couldn't--I had t-to t-t-take it off."__

Frodo shook his head, dismissing the matter, and knelt before her.  "You cannot stay in there.  You'll freeze--_are _freezing.  Take my hand," he reached out, placed a gentle hand upon her arm, "and I will help you."

            She shied away from him, flinching at his touch, though at the same time relishing his warmth.  Frodo forced himself not to pull away, for she needed him, whether she realized it or not.

            "No, I c-can't," she protested.

            "Sam and I won't look," he promised, but she only shook her head.

            "Take Sam back to the House," she told him, for the hobbit was trembling horribly.  She refused to note that she was in a similar state.

            Frodo stared at her in disbelief.  "I won't leave you here," he told her and his voice was unusually firm.

            Apryl's features hardened.  "I'm n-not g-g-getting out!"  _This is foolishness, _she realized.  _But I won't--I can't.  _She would not have him see her.  It frightened her beyond reason and she would sooner stay in the freezing pool then come out with not on but her undergarments.  She would not let anyone see her.

            "Sam is c-cold and he can't be well.  I'll be alright," she assured him, her face softening at the look in his eyes.  "When you leave, I'll try to unt-t-tangle the dress, and then I'll c-come.  It's n-not so c-c-cold."

            Frodo frowned.  "You don't expect me to believe you," it wasn't even a question.  

            At this, Apryl didn't seem to know what to say.  She couldn't explain this reasoning to him for, in truth, she didn't understand it herself.  The hobbit seemed to sense this.

            Frodo bit his bottom lip, then nodded slowly; agreed reluctantly.  "I'll take Sam," he said, "then I'll come back for you."

            She nodded, shivering, and Frodo stood up.  "But don't go after the dress," he said.  "I'll bring you a cloak or blanket or something.  I will hurry."  

            Together, he and Sam--who trembled from head to furry feet--made their way down the path and Apryl watched them until they disappeared from sight.

            _Hurry._

*****

            And so, Apryl meets our two Ring-bearers . . . . review, yes?


	16. Otherworld

            Disclaimer:  Look at the previous chapters.  

            *note:  Sorry it took so long for to post this.  I've been working on another fic and schools been kind of hectic.  Hopefully, the next one won't take so long. 

Ch. 16

OTHERWORLD

            Pippin walked the shadowed lands, hugging himself against the bitter cold.  Always, he returned to this dark world, ever since she had come to him that time when the magic consumed him.  He longed for her to return, just as she had come before.  To take him out of the lost land that he knew naught where nor when nor why he was.  He only wanted out.  He feared this place like nothing he had ever feared before.  There was an evil presence in the depths of this land.  He could feel it, however faint, watching him, laughing at him--at his futile attempts at escape.

            _Cold._

Pippin looked around him.  He sought for the owner of the voice . . . or lack of voice.  It hadn't sounded like anyone had spoken but the word had been clear in his head, almost as if he had thought it, but not quite.  "Who's there?" he called out.

            _Peregrin?_

Pippin halted his steps.

            _Pippin, where are you?_

"Who's there?" he called again, his voice shaking with hope.  No one had come to him, not since before.

            _It's me.  Don't you remember?  _

"Yes," the hobbit whispered, for he did.

            _It's so cold, Pippin.  I'm so cold._

"Where are you?"

            _Th-that place.  Where I found you before._

"But _where_?" Pippin asked.  He turned a full circle, searching for any sign of another.  There was no one else, though.  He was alone.  "I cannot see you."

            _I don't know._  _It's so dark._

He didn't know what to do, for her voice was in his thoughts and he knew not what direction they came from.  They seemed to come from every and no direction.

            _Pippin?_

"I'm here," he said softly, shivering.  Why was it so cold?

            _Do you feel it?_

"Feel what?"  He looked around nervously.  Someone else was there, seeming to stand right beside him.

            _Someone's here._

He swallowed, for his throat was dry.  "I know it."

            _I hate this place._

"Me too."

            _How do we leave?_

"This is your world, Apryl, not mine," Pippin said, in a hushed sort of manner.

            _No . . . I do not know this place.  I . . . no._

"I never knew it," Pippin said, "Not until the magic came.  Now, I cannot escape it."  For many moments, there was no answer, and Pippin feared he had lost her.  He looked down at his hand and saw that it shook--from fear or cold, he knew not.

            _I _have _been here before._

Pippin was silent.

            _When I was little, I would sometimes dream of this place.  I walked its dark lands all alone and I could never find another here.  But since I came to Middle-earth I have seen you, Pippin, and Frodo and Gandalf, I think.  I do not know why I've come here now._

"How do you leave this nightmare?"

            _Only when I wake.  _She was silent a moment, then:_  Do you suppose . . . ?_

"Perhaps," Pippin murmured softly.  "But how do we . . . ?"

            _I don't know._

            "I don't know," she sighed.  Apryl looked around her but saw naught save a deep nothingness that almost resembled night, but not quite.  She wondered at how she came to be here and even more of where she was before she came here, for she remembered nothing.  _No, I remember Sam._

_            Sam? _Pippin wondered.

            _Yes._  _I remember Sam . . . faintly.  As if I saw him, but . . . but I can't remember anything else.  Frodo maybe?  I can almost see him, but not quite._  She shivered.  Why was it so cold?  Her hands were blue and her legs she could not even feel.  Her jaw constantly chattered so that she didn't even use her voice anymore but only thought.  For some reason Pippin could hear that just as well, more maybe, than if she had spoken aloud.  It was strange.

            _Apryl? _he called softly, hesitantly.

            _What is it, Pippin?_

He was silent a moment.  _I-it's terribly cold._

Apryl nodded, though she suspected he could not see her and, slowly, almost painfully, she sat down upon the ground.  If one could even term it that, for it was dark, black and dead.  Not dirt, not ash, but something quite similar.  She buried her hands in it, hoping to warm them but it was chill, colder even than her skin.  She shuddered.

            _Apryl?_

She brought her knees up to her chest and rested her chin upon them.  _Yes?_

_            Are you cold? _he wondered, his thoughts holding a tinge of fear.__

_            Yes, _she said softly.

            _My hands are numb.  Are yours?_

Her eyelids drooped sleepily.  _Yes.  Pip? _it was no more than a quiet sigh.

            _Pip?_

Pippin shivered uncontrollably and his teeth chattered wildly so that he could no longer speak aloud.  His legs had moments before ceased to support him and he crumbled to the blackened ground of a blackened world.  He hugged himself and prayed for light, for warmth, for heat but knew beyond a doubt that it would never be granted.  This cold was a wretched, evil thing.

            _Pippin? _he heard again, softer still.

            _I am here, _he assured her.

            It was long moments before she said aught else.  Finally:

            _You won't leave me, will you?_

Pippin--in the midst of the eternal darkness--remembered the rain, remembered her.  _Never, _he said, and meant it with all his being.  To him, she was a delicate thing, someone needing protection and care.  And . . . and something else.  She was not like other humans; she was not like any he had known.  _Never._

            Relief washed through his soul and he knew it to be her own.  Almost, he could see her quiet smile.

            _I am glad, _she said.  After a moment:

            _Pip?_

_            Yes?_

_            I won't leave you, either._

Despite the cold and despite his fear, Pippin smiled.

* * * * *

            Frodo half-stumbled, half-ran up the stairs to the House, supporting a shivering Sam with one arm, while supporting himself on the railing.

            "I-it's s-s-so c-cold, Mr. F-frodo," Sam chattered, his numb legs barely keeping him upright.

            "I know, Sam," Frodo said, shivering.  His friend's wet clothes had long soaked his own and, though Frodo was not numb as Sam surely was, the wet only intensified the quiet chill in the air.  "We're almost there." 

            The fire in Pippin's room was nearly out, though the coals provided an extraordinary amount of heat that Sam was automatically drawn to.  He knelt beside its heated blaze as Frodo took the discarded blanket from the floor.  "I'll come right back," Frodo told his friend.  "If you see anyone, Sam, tell them what's happened, for I may need some help."

            "I can help you, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, discarding the heat and his own comfort in less than a second.  Already, he was making as if to follow his master.

            "No, Sam, you wait here," Frodo said firmly, shaking his head of dark curls.  "Get out of those clothes.  I shan't be long."  And without waiting for a reply, the hobbit turned and went out into the chill air once again.  

            With a sigh, Sam watched his master go, then turned and looked dubiously at the fire--or lack of.  He trembled uncontrollably.  

            "Do hurry, Mr. Frodo," Sam whispered.  Still, he could see the young human clinging to the embankment with a desperate grip, her eyes glazed with fatigue and her body shaking from the cold.

            On the other side of the room, Sam heard a quiet moan and remembered Pippin.  Glancing over at Frodo's younger cousin, the gardener stayed a shiver and walked over to him.

            "Oh, Mr. Pippin," Sam gasped, his dark eyes filling with distress.  "What's happened to you?"

            In his sleep, Peregrin shivered as much as, if not more than, Sam.  His lips were blue, almost purple, as were his cheeks and ears.  When Sam touched the younger hobbit with a shaking hand, there was no warmth.  He snatched his hand back, almost as if he feared the cold, and wrung his hands nervously at his side.  The hobbit looked about, wishing the hearth held a blazing fire, and noting with apprehension that there was no wood in which to feed it.

            His gaze fell back upon Pippin and he rested a kind, if not completely gently, hand upon the younger hobbit's shoulder.  "Mr. Pippin, sir, wake up," he urged, his voice cracking.  "Wake up, please, sir, wake up--"

            "Sam?  What are you doing?"

            Samwise knew whom the soft voice belonged to even before he turned around.  Merry's eyes--like the sky on a clear, crisp day--watched the gardener in a curious, bemused sort of manner.  

            Sam had always been fond of Merry, for the cheer he always had in his eyes and for the way in which he made his master laugh.  For without truly meaning to, Merry would make the grumpiest of elders twitch at the mouth and the most tightlipped of mothers would smile fondly at him and beneath their breath whisper, "Now there's a true gentlehobbit."  And Meriadoc was, though he would only blush and mumble a few unintelligible words if he ever spied or heard such, while his younger cousin, Peregrin, would snicker behind his hand. 

"Oh, Mr. Merry," Sam fairly sobbed and at once the light in Merry's eyes dimmed, overshadowed by sudden fear.  He ran to his sleeping cousin.  "I don't know what's happened to him, truly I don't.  I just came in here with Mr. Frodo and, after he left to go find the girl, I heard Pippin, here, moan and as I came over I saw that he was chill and as cold as death."            Merry laid a hand upon his cousin's brow then snatched it back with a sudden cry.  "It burns," he gasped.  Not for the first time fear gripped his heart.  "His fever's come back," he gritted.  _But different, for you're both hot and cold at once--burning and chill._

            Merry looked at Sam and noted for the first time that his clothes were soaked.  He frowned at this.

            It was then Sam recalled what Frodo had told him before going after Apryl.  _If you see anyone, Sam, tell them what's happened, for I may need some help._

"Mr. Merry," Sam looked at his master's cousin, his dark eyes filled with apprehension.  "I fear Mr. Frodo may be in some trouble; the lass, too."__

* * * * *

Rose—You have a very good point and I've actually been thinking on it.  Yes, she is a Maia and that's all she is.  However, Apryl doesn't quite understand this and only thinks the Istari and the Maiar are on and the same.  But honestly, yes, I did make an error (surprise, surprise^^) and I will not refer to her as an Istari any more and later I'll go back and make the corrections.  Thank you so much for pointing out my mistakes and, truly, I mean that!


	17. Of Her World and His

Chapter 17

OF HER WORLD AND HIS

            Frodo found her asleep, though she had managed to crawl halfway from the icy water before giving into the darkness.  She lay half sprawled upon the bank, her cheek pressed against the muddy grass, as her legs drifted weightlessly in the water.  Without looking, as he had promised her he would not, Frodo knelt beside her, turned her over, and with great difficulty brought her over to a dry patch of grass.  There he laid her atop the blanket and covered her.

            "Apryl," he breathed.  Through the blanket he could hardly make out the rise and fall of her chest.  "Apryl," he said again but received no indication that she had heard him.

            Frodo looked down the path that he had come.  The walk was not far but it would be terribly so if he was made to carry her.  She would not wake, he was certain of that, for the cold had stolen her away and the only ones who might help her, he knew, were the elves.  But the elves were at the House and the House was so very far.

            He watched her for a time, debating what to do, finally deciding to carry her for as long as his strength would allow and then use the blanket as a sort of sled, and pull her the remaining way.  As with some difficulty he lifted her in his arms and decided that she was very light for a human.

            The winding trek from the small pool to the House was a very long and tedious one.

            Merry ran down the path as fast as his legs would allow.  Sam had told him very little, but he had told him enough and the fear that had already been present with the discovery of the fever's return was now doubled at the knowledge Apryl's current condition.  

            If anyone knew the dangers of water it would be Meriadoc Brandybuck.  He had been raised on the shores of the Brandywine and though the Bucklanders did fear the water as only hobbits can they also respected it, for both its destructive abilities and beneficiary factors.  When Merry was just a lad his best friend had died in the Brandywine.  So, too, had Frodo's parents.

            Barely ten minutes had passed when Meriadoc rounded a bend in the path and nearly ran straight into his cousin.  With a yelp and at the last, Merry skipped to the side, tripped over a rock, and landed sprawled upon the ground.  

            "Frodo," Merry gasped.  "There you are."

            Apryl was cradled in Frodo's arms, with her head lolled upon his chest and her feet nearly brushing the ground.  The hobbit looked down at his younger cousin, his face as pale as death and his eyes clouded over in exhaustion and fear.

            Merry struggled to his feet.  "Is she well?"

            A gasp escaped Frodo's tightly clamped lips.  He grimaced.  "Do me kind, Merry."  He shifted the girl's weight in his arms.  "Take her for a moment.  Hold her while I catch my breath."

            Merry took Apryl in his arms, bending slightly at the sudden weight.  For a human she was not heavy, Merry had no doubts about that but she _was_ Human and any such was heavy for any hobbit, even if Merry was full-grown and a gentlehobbit on any and all accounts.

            "Sam told me what happened," Merry said, looking down into Apryl's pale complexion.  Frodo, who was bent double in a vain attempt to catch his breath, peered over at his cousin.

            "Is he getting help?"  Frodo grinned wryly.  "I'm in need of it sorely."

            Merry smiled at his cousin.  "You're looking at him."

            Frodo's features softened.  "Come along then."  

            And together, the two hobbits managed the girl back to the House of the Elves.

*     *     *     *     *

            _I don't think the Bucklanders were too fond of Cousin Frodo, for it was rare when he visited there and rarer still when he received a warm welcome.  Buckland was home to me more than it was to dear Frodo, but you can't blame _him_ for that; I don't believe the Brandybucks are too fond of Bagginses.  They seem more pleased with us Tooks than Frodo's father's family.  Odd, when you think about it._

"Go figure," Apryl murmured.  She stopped in the darkness, peered about until his voice came again.

            _Figure what?_

She looked to her left.

            "You're a Took."

            _So I am,_ Pippin agreed.

            She began to walk again.  "Wull . . . go figure that a Took would see how much others--say, Brandybucks, Grubbs, Bracegirdles . . . Sackville-Bagginses, even--how much they snub you."  She could feel his shrug.

            _I'm not ashamed of who I am._

She smiled.  "You shouldn't be."

            _Neither should you, Apryl._

Apryl's smile vanished.  After a moment, "I'm not, Pip."

            _You don't have to lie to me._

She didn't reply to that, partially because she didn't know _how_ to respond.  Again, she stopped and looked around.  

            Though the air about her was still cold, the feeling was slowly coming back to her fingers so that they ached and burned.  Apryl had long ago got off the chill ash-like ground and began walking the dark planes of the nightmare world, searching hard and long for Peregrin.  After a time of wandering she had noticed a slight change in the thoughts coming to her.  She didn't know how to explain it, other than her mind seemed to _tingle_.  This sensation alerted her, and she wondered if it meant she was nearing Pippin, for she was desperate for his companionship, not just to hear him but to see and feel him too.

            And so she followed this tingling sensation.

            "Keep talking, Pip."

            _I believe I've run out of things to talk about, _Pippin said, somewhat at a loss.

            Apryl giggled.  "You, Peregrin Took, have run out of things to talk about?"

            Pippin laughed.  _Amazing, isn't it?_

"Very much so."

            Several moments later:

            _Apryl, can I ask you something?_

"Anything."

            _Why is it I have this uncanny feeling that you know me?_

Apryl frowned.  "Because I do."

            _No, no.  What I mean is, it's like you've known me all along.  You know things about me.  You call me 'Pip', even.  Only Merry and Frodo call me that._

"I'm sorry.  I should not call you that any more if you like."

            _No, Apryl, that's not it at all._

She sighed.  "I know."

            _Well?_

Apryl thought for a moment (secretly praying Pippin couldn't read her thoughts as seemed probable in this off-set world).__

Finally, she came to a decision.  "I'm not going to lie to you, Pip, alright?  But I can't tell you the entire truth either."  She could not judge his reaction so she forged ahead anyway, hoping that what she did was right and, regardless if it was right or wrong, that Gandalf would not be upset.  "Let's just say that I know _of_ you.  I don't know you in the sense you might be thinking but I've heard of you."

            For a time, Pippin was quiet.  Finally:

            _You know _of_ me?  But how is that so?  What about the others--Cousin Frodo and Merry and Sam, even?  Do you know_ of _them also?_

"Yes."

            _How, though?  The Outside has barely heard of hobbits, how could it be possible they know of four specific hobbits?_

"I come from a far away land.  Farther even than Gandalf's traveled, I think.  Pippin, I live in a completely different world."

            _And, yet, they know of us there?_

Apryl was going to put her foot in it, she just knew it.  "Not necessarily you four, but my world is vaguely familiar with the race of hobbits.  There are . . . histories.  Few in my world read them, but there are enough who do.  I'd rather not talk about it any more."

            _Very well, _Pippin said finally, though there was a deep suspicion in his thoughts and Apryl felt horrible down to the very core of her being.  She was going to say something that would make amends for keeping him in the dark.

            However, a sudden odd and intriguing thought came to her instead.

            "Pippin?"

            _What? _came the thought grudgingly and Apryl was suddenly reminded of when he had gotten upset at her for finding his furry feet amusing.

            "Are we friends?"

            There was a moment's silence, before:

            _Apryl, what an odd human you are!  You ask the strangest things that ever I have heard anyone ask.  What do you mean 'are we friends?'_

"Exactly that."  She didn't understand what was so extraordinary about it.  It was a simple, straightforward sort of question.  In fact, it was a rather bold question on her part.  "Never mind," Apryl said hurriedly, horrified she had even asked it.  "It doesn't matter.  Just keep talking so that I might find you, alright?"

            But he didn't.  There came no reply until several moments later.

            _Apryl, don't you think we're friends?_

"I supposed we were . . ." she replied hesitantly.

            _Is your world so different that it is so difficult to tell friend from foe?        _

Apryl gave a bitter sort of laugh.  "Yes, as a matter of fact.  True friends are rare in my world.  Someone you call a friend one day may become a stranger the next or, worse, your enemy.  In my whole life--and, yes, I realize I haven't been around very long--I've had one friend that I could truly count on and always remain confident that she would be there when I needed her the most and even when I didn't . . ."  Apryl's voice trailed off as a memory suddenly tried to take a grip on her.  It had something to do with Morgainne.  She couldn't get it straight, however, for this Otherworld had the nasty habit of distorting things beyond recognition.

            _How sad, _Pippin mourned.__

"Hmm?  What's sad?"

            _Your world._

            "Yes," Apryl mused quietly.  "It rather is, isn't it?"

*****

            Sorry for taking so long to get this out—life's been rather hectic lately.  Hopefully the next one will come sooner.  Just so you know, I'm not giving up on this.  Thanks for your patience.^^


	18. The Child

Disclaimer:  Don't own it, never will.

A/N:  Forgive me.

Chapter 18

THE CHILD

            Morgainne turned from the path long before she came upon Legolas, her mind too full of turmoil to face him or any other for that matter.  If truth were told she couldn't decide if she wanted to cry or lash out.  Lashing out at herself would have been all the better, though she feared if she saw another she would hurt them, not herself.

            She needed to be by herself, to think, to sort. 

            The she-elf wandered the woods for what seemed only several moments but was far longer, for Morgainne saw that the sun had reached its zenith and was now slowly sinking in the West.  It was only then that she heard the yell.  At first it was soft, far away, and she discarded it, too preoccupied with her own thoughts to take any notice of the trivial matters of others.  After a time, though, it came louder and she soon caught something specific in the cry--her name.

            Morgainne glanced around, located the direction in which the noise came and determined the owner of that voice.  The elf scowled, shook her head.

            _Can he not take a hint?  Men are all the same, whether old, young, dwarf, elf, man or hobbit.  Let me be, will you?  Let me be._

But the shouts continued, grew stronger and more urgent until Morgainne frowned in worry.

            _This isn't like him . . . _She bit her bottom lip.  _Something's wrong._

And she ran to find him.

*     *     *     *     *

            He couldn't tell how long he had been in the black plane but for all the times he convinced himself that it wasn't long at all, he had the unnerving sense that he had always been there.  

            At Apryl's request he had stayed in the same spot, holding back the urge to run fast and far so that she might be able to find him.  That is all that kept him from moving--her seeking him out.  He would have given anything to find her, to not be alone in this wretched world.

            "Pip!"

            Pippin jumped and turned around.  He had heard his name both in his head, as before, and echoing throughout the blackened world.  Feverishly he looked all around, straining his already sharp sight for any sign of her.

            "Over here," she cried and, indeed, there she was running across the ash-covered land, stumbling, barely managing her feet, but running to him nonetheless.  With a cry, Pippin dashed off toward her.

            They ran _into _each other rather than _to_ each other, landing in an unceremonious heap upon the ground.  Neither cared, though, for both were too relieved to see the other.  Fear, as cold and as hard as lead in the pit of their stomachs, had whispered dark terrors of never seeing another living being again.  They had proved this Otherworld false, though, and had found the other.

            Apryl was crying.  She reached over and grasped his hand and when he pulled her close, they embraced and neither let go of the other for many long moments.  Eventually, reluctantly, Apryl pushed away and peered intently at Peregrin's small form.  "Are you well?" she asked finally, breathlessly.

            "Aye," he nodded, looking her up and down just as intently.  "You?"

            She nodded.  "I'll live."  Suddenly, she frowned and reaching out, touched his face. 

            "What is it?" he asked, worried.

            Her eyes were wide, luminous, seeming to reflect the entire land with a much more appealing glow.  But her face was dark, saddened.  "Your face . . ." she whispered.

            Pippin pulled away from her touch, turned away  "I know--"

            "I'm so sorry, Pip," she mourned.  "So very sorry . . . ."

            Peregrin Took awakened in the same room of the same House he had fallen asleep within only so long before, but for some odd reason, he felt different.  He felt worse than before, laden down with some unseen force.  What it was, though, he could not say.

            "Morning, Cousin," came an annoyingly cheerful voice.  "Or Afternoon, should I say?"

            Pippin spied Merry seated in a chair that was both too big and too tall for the likes of any hobbit and made his cousin seem amusingly childish.  It fit Merry perfectly.

            "Go 'way, Merry," Pippin slurred sleepily.  He peered about him, noting with delight that the fire roared in its hearth, banishing any chill that had earlier lingered in the room.  However, the fire had a difficult time dispelling the one that resided in Pippin's body.  Oddly, he was quiet chill.  He wished he might get up and warm his hands by the fire but he realized after trying to do just that that his body had other ideas.  Ideas about doing absolutely nothing.

            "Easy there, Pip," Merry said soothingly, seeing his cousin struggling weakly to sit up.  "You've been gone for a little over two days."

            "Two days?" Pippin asked weakly, peering at his cousin in bleary-eyed wonder.  

            Merry nodded.  "Your fever came back.  You were in and out often enough but after a time we couldn't get you back."  The older hobbit's eyes were overshadowed and Pippin could easily detect the note of fear in his cousin's voice.

            Pippin managed a shaky smile.  "As good as ever, now, Merry.  I feel like I could take on an entire army of those Black Riders."

            Merry looked at his cousin skeptically.

            "Mind, a very small army.  More like a imaginary one, say?"

            Merry grinned.  "Yes, lets."  The hobbit shook his head of light curls.  "How do you fare, Pip?"

            "Well enough.  Tired, I'd say, but none the worse for the wear.  Where are the others?  Cousin Frodo and Sam?"

            "There around," Merry assured him.  "I'd say they're with Gandalf, getting underfoot, no doubt."

            "Oh, aye?" Pippin said, mildly curious.  "And what is old Gandalf up to, aside from being his usual irritable self."

            Merry could merely smile at his cousin's antics.  "Attending to Apryl I should imagine.  They haven't been able to rouse her either."  The hobbit frowned.  "Not since Frodo found her near the pool."

            "The pool?" Pippin said, confused.  "Why, what happened at the pool?  Is she well?  What's happened?  Tell me."

            Merry shushed his cousin.  "Calm down, Pip, she's alright.  Sam had an unlikely spill into the water and she jumped in after him, that's all."

            "Well, then, what's wrong?" Pippin demanded.

            Merry shrugged, though inwardly he was fretting almost as much as Pippin.  "She caught a slight chill.  She should be well by now.  In fact, Gandalf's not all that certain as to why she hasn't awoken already--"  Merry cut off suddenly, realizing what he said and the way it must have sounded.  He hadn't meant to upset his cousin but he obviously had.  "I didn't mean--" he began, trying to correct his error.  "Pippin, stop that!  Lie back down," he demanded but Pippin would have none of it and he struggled to a sitting position before the world flashed bright and then rapidly went dark.  He reached out wildly as the world began to spin and Merry caught hold and grasped his younger cousin.  "Stop this," he hissed, holding Pippin, who was gasping in breathless fits.  "Calm down, Pip, just calm down now.  There's no need to get upset.  What do you expect to do?  Gandalf's already there and if anyone can do ought he can.  You know that as well as I."

            Pippin clutched Merry by the arm, his eyes wide and searching, filled with terror, for he could see naught save the blackness . . . and that terrible world of shadow.

            _Not again! _he pleaded.  _Never again.  Merry, help me!  Don't let it come, don't let me go!_

"Pippin," Merry said, his voice laced with concern.  "Shh, Pip, shh, I'm here.  Don't cry, don't cry.  I'm here.  Shh."__

The shadows slowly faded, overtaken by the brightness, and the world--the _real_ world--returned.

            "Merry," Pippin sobbed into his cousin's tunic, "Oh, Merry, I left her.  I left her all alone . . . all alone . . . ."

*     *     *     *     *

            She did not wake up.

            One would think it odd at the way the House grieved, if they did not understand, and indeed many did not.  The dwarves thought it curious that so many would mourn for one small human child, only one saying naught but remembering the dinner only so many nights before.  The humans muttered among their kind that elves were truly a queer folk, only one voicing this so much louder than his fellows.  

            None, however, seemed to note the peculiar little halflings, who mourned as much, if not more, than those tall, serene Elvish folk, each in their own way.  Sam, the stouthearted little hobbit that was most protective of his master, could be seen wandering the gardens, fidgeting, talking to himself or the flowers, none knew which.  He would say little to others, save the occasional mutter beneath his breath and savage shake of his head.  

            Pippin slept fitfully and often, crying out, moaning, tossing and turning.  None could do ought to comfort him, not even quite, bright-eyed Merry, who sat beside his cousin all through the terrors of the younger's dreams.  He'd hold Pippin's hand tight, brush his curls aside, and cry silently at his side.  It could not be told for whom he cried, his cousin or the girl, or perhaps both.  

            And the Ring-Bearer, he who spoke little, save to comfort or reassure when he himself was in so much pain, sat beside her bed in such a way as to just be there should she need him.  He did not say ought, did not move, save to reach out as if to take her hand in his own but faltered always at the last, snatch his hand away and set it, trembling, upon his lap.

            He did not so much as look up when Morgainne came into the room, looking, pacing, talking, crying.  The she-elf ranted and raved, cried and cursed, and finally laid down upon the bed beside Apryl.  Just laid there.  Just laid there and . . . .

            _Wake up, Apryl, wake up.  I'm so sorry, so terribly, terribly sorry.  Do not leave me.  You can't, you can't, you can't.  I won't let you, _can't _let you!  Can't!_

But no matter what anyone did, no matter how much they mourned, how much they hoped, she did not wake.  

            Two days after Pippin woke, four days after Sam had almost drowned, Morgainne started awake from the dead of night and looked across the bed to her hand, which rested upon Apryl's arm.  Her friend was still, cold to the touch.  Morgainne felt for a pulse, found none, and wept.

            Two others woke that night:  Merry was jerked suddenly awake by the terrible screams that erupted from Pippin, who could not be shushed nor stilled no matter the coaxing; Gandalf did not weep, did not mourn, but merely passed beyond the House where he looked to the heavens, sighed, and closed his eyes.

* * * * *


	19. Of That Which is Loved and Lost

Disclaimer:  Tolkien's world, people, language, landmarks, ect.  I don't claim any of it for my own . . . except Apryl (Atira) and Morgainne.

A/N:  Sorry about the delay but I suppose I don't have to be seeing how I couldn't have posted even if I had wanted to, which I did.  Kind of ironic that ff.net failed after I posted the previous chapter, ne?  Ah, well, I feed off suspense.  Anyway, enjoy and review, too, if you have time.

Chapter 19

OF THAT WHICH IS LOVED AND LOST

            Frodo woke to the sound of someone crying, the world coming to him in a haze as he blinked his eyes sleepily.  But it came swiftly, for the sobs alerted him instantly and he looked about him in the dark.  Not a single candle burned nor did a star penetrate the clouds outside and it was several moments before his eyes adjusted to the dark.  Once they did, he spied the she-elf and her tall, slender form was curled up upon the bed, her head of dark hair buried in her friend's still form.

            "Lady Morgainne?" Frodo called hesitantly, seeing the elf's body shake with sobs.  

            Morgainne started, looked up sharply and Frodo could barely make out that the elf's eyes were red and swollen with crying.  Instantly, he leapt to his feet.

            "What's the matter?" he demanded, his voice sharp with fear.  His gaze fell to Apryl and instantly he knew something was wrong.  Morgainne said nought, though her gaze fell back to her friend and she swallowed, trying to force the tears to stop. 

            "Apryl . . ." she whispered into the night and squeezed her eyes shut tight.  She clenched her jaw tight and spoke so very quietly that Frodo's sharp hobbit ears almost didn't catch what she said.  "Go find Gandalf, Frodo.  Tell him Apryl is . . . " she opened her eyes and looked out into the night, "Tell him she is dead."

            His breath was knocked from his lungs by something unseen--her words.  His body went suddenly cold.  

            _Dead?  _Frodo was sure he had heard wrong.  The color was gone from his face and his hands were as cold as ice.  He could not think, let alone move.  How could it be possible?  He had heard wrong, surely.  

            _Dead?  _She had only fallen into a pool of water in a desperate attempt to save Sam.  Sam was perfectly fine, at this very moment sleeping contently in his soft elven bed.  Apryl was fine.  She was sleeping, only sleeping . . . _Dead?  _No, not dead.  She couldn't be dead.

            "Go, Frodo."

            But he couldn't.  He couldn't do anything except look at Apryl.  He saw her complexion was as white as the sheets on which she laid.  He saw the lack of breath and the stiffness of her limbs.  Her face, though.  Her face was as beautiful as he had ever seen it--unstrained with the pains of life.

            _But I _saved _you! _he wanted to cry._  Gandalf sent me to you so you would not die . . . and, yet, you have.  How?  Why?  This is not how it's suppose to be, this is not--_

"Go, Frodo!" Morgainne fairly screamed, "Get out.  _Go!_" and when he still did not move, merely jumped and looked at her in a blank, wide-eyed stare, she struggled from the bed and made to go after him, a look in her green eyes that promised death if he was unlucky enough to get caught.

            He fled.  Frodo ran from the room, not looking forward nor behind, his gaze blinded by fear, confusion, and something that he had not felt since the day his parents had died--hatred.  Pure indescribable hatred.

            Morgainne watched him go, cursed him silently then did so aloud, shouting profanity after him until her throat hurt and the tears once again came.  She stumbled the rest of the way from the bed and ran out into the gardens.

*     *     *     *     *

_            Apryl was crying.  She reached over and grasped his hand and when he pulled her close, they embraced and neither let go of the other for many long moments.  Eventually, reluctantly, Apryl pushed away and peered intently at Peregrin's small form.  "Are you well?" she asked finally, breathlessly._

_            "Aye," he nodded, looking her up and down just as intently.  "You?"_

_            She nodded.  "I'll live."  Suddenly, she frowned and reaching out, touched his face . . . ._

            Her eyes--as gray as the ocean before a storm--were filled with a terrible grief, for she saw before her such pain that she could never understand nor fix or mend, or so she deemed.  Peregrin's face was a most horrid thing, not because it _was_ scarred but because of what those scars portended.

            _What have I done? _she cried, even as she had cried so many times before.  But what hurt almost as much as the knowledge of what she had done was the lack of knowledge of _how_ she had done it.  For perhaps if she knew then maybe, just maybe, she could _un_do it.  

            But Apryl didn't know.  She couldn't, for she did not yet believe all that Gandalf had told her.

            _It's impossible.  I am Apryl.  I am me, just me._

And so she could not heal him, could not help him when he sat right before her, looking into her eyes with so much joy, for they were no longer alone in the ash-covered world that smelled so much like death and decay.

            He smiled at her--at _her, _who had caused him all of his grief--but she did not smile back.  She couldn't.  Seeing this, Pippin frowned.  "What is it?" he asked, concerned.  

            "Your face . . ." she fairly cried and at her words Pippin flinched, turned away.

            _Not you too, Apryl, _he mourned.Pippin's eyes pinched shut and he could have been wincing from pain and indeed he was, though not in a physical sense.  _My face is ruined, destroyed.  Curse it!_

            He had seen the pitying glances from the others.  He saw them and felt, in a sense, betrayed.  Even Apryl, even her . . . .

            "I know--" he said sharply, pulling away from her touch.

            The hard tone in his voice hurt Apryl more than she thought was possible.  At that small notion of rejection, tears threatened to spring to her eyes and only with her flatly refusing their existence did she get away with nought a tear shed.  

            _I did this to you!_ she wanted to say.  _I've done an awful wrong, Pip, and I don't know how to fix it.  I should have never come, _and she might very well have got up then and returned to her own world had she known it would help any.  But she didn't, not for certain, and her world seemed so terribly bleak, frail, and wicked right then that she was certain that if she was forced to return her heart might very well break at the terrible lose.  Even at the thought of returning her whole being, her very soul, was cast into despair.  _I love it here so much, Pip!  _

Aloud, however, all she could manage was a quite, "I'm so sorry, Pip," and one could wonder what she apologized for--for the terrible scars that adorned his face and body, or for the fact that she could do nought to heal him?  Perhaps both.  

            He never turned, though; never saw the desperation in her eyes, the fear in her deep gray orbs.  She said it again, this time in a desperate plea, for suddenly he was leaving her, slowly fading from existence--no, back _into _existence.  "So very sorry . . . !"

            He never heard her; he was gone.

            "Pippin!" she wailed, her terrified cry echoing throughout the hollow, blackened Otherworld.  He heart clenched in fear and she reached out into empty space, clutching at the air.  "Please! You promised, Pip!  Don't leave me!  You promised!"

            _They always do, _came the pressing sneer.  It was fast, fleeting and Apryl wasn't all that certain she had "heard" the phrase or had thought it herself.

            She stared at the empty space before her, numb, unmoving.  He did not come back no matter how much she willed it and deep down she knew that he never would.  He had left her, just as he had promised he wouldn't.

            _Idiot! _she sneered at herself in contempt._  You're such a fool!  You know better than that!  _To trust was to invite hurt--Apryl had learned that hard truth a long time ago and for the better part of her years she had kept herself from further injury.  Even when Pippin had sworn she would not be alone she had doubted his words, though at the same time letting _him_ believe that she did not.  But after a time, after so long in a world that wasn't a world with someone to call a friend, that trust had slowly come, wrapped itself around Pippin in an eager embrace and had rested there contently.  Now, she cursed herself for such carelessness.

            _It is your own fault, you know, _she reprimanded herself, sniffling and rubbing at her eyes.  Shakily, she stood, looked around her with a mixture of apprehension, weariness, and anger.  _Pippin's not to blame; you are.  _I_ am._

And the Otherworld, forever black, dead and motionless seemed to grow and swell, drink off of her misery.  If she had not known better she would of thought the land chuckled in pleasure.  Then again, who could ever know better when they found themselves in a place that was no place but merely a lack of place?  

            One could never be certain of anything.

*****


	20. The In-Between

Disclaimer:  I reserve no rights to this story and any characters I have "borrowed". 

A/N:  Contrary to common belief, this is _not _the end of 'Mistake'; far from it I am afraid.  What, indeed, has been explained?  Nothing.  Poor Apryl would be in a sorry state if she was finally granted the one wish she truly desired and then never got to enjoy it to the fullest.  And Pip too, ne?  We cannot leave him as such.  Nay, my friends, this story is not finished and won't be for a very long time.  If I were you, I'd grab a nice cup of coffee (or tea, or milk, or whatever drink you might fancy [not alcohol though, I'm afraid you'd loose interest in my tale rather quickly . . . I know I would^^]), sit back, and enjoy the unfolding of this tale.

WARNING:  There is foul language in this chapter (I believe only at the beginning).  If you have a problem with this I'm afraid you'll have to take it up with Morgainne—she is rather difficult to restrain sometimes, you must understand.

Chapter 20

THE IN-BETWEEN

            The statue stood there, in the midst of the dying flowers and evergreen trees, just as tall and serene as she always had.  Her face was sorrowful, her eyes filled with pain, and Morgainne hated her.  Had her sword rested upon her hip she would of struck the woman over and over, but as it was not she did the next best thing.

            Rocks hit and bounced off the statue's white surface, sticks shattered and rained splintered shards of wood, fists struck and bled profusely. 

            "_Whore!_" she screamed, "_Fuckin' bitch!  _Why didn't you protect her!?  She was yours and you let _him_ take her, and then when we get her back--when she's finally happy again--_you_ let her die!  Why!?  She did _everything_ for you.  She _aided_ those that you wept for; she offered her strength when all you offered those in pain was sympathy.  _She _was the one to give her heart when you merely gave tears and yet she didn't mind, she _never _minded, for that was your Atira . . ." she sobbed brokenly, struck the marble again and again with her pale, white-knuckled fist, ". . . that was my Apryl . . ." she sobbed ". . . and you let him take her . . . _again_ . . ."  She sank to the ground and put her head in her hands, her tears depleted so that all she could manage were dry sobs, her body shaking savagely.

            _I should have been there.  This is my fault.  How could I have done this to her? She didn't understand . . . she _is_ my friend, whether I was sent to her or not.  She's my very best friend . . ._

_            Was . . . _some unseen voice seemed to hiss.

She curled up beneath the statue of Nienna, Valar of Mourning, and was sick, for her life was suddenly very bleak and without meaning.

            "Child," the wind seemed to whisper and slowly Morgainne looked up.

            "Mithrandir," she sniffed, her strength fled, having taken with it her anger.  He joined her in the cool glade, his gray robes _swishing _softly.  "I failed her."

            Gandalf shook his head, gazed at the statue before him.  "If any failed Atira then it was I."  His gaze fell back down to the she-elf and found that she too was looking at the statue, though her gaze was heated, bitter.  "None failed her, my dear," and she looked up at him in mild confusion.  He allowed her a comforting, if tired smile.

            "Just as her soul was dying in an Earth that was not hers," he explained, "so too could her Earthian body not live in this time, this _Middle_-earth as some are want to call it."  He gave a tired sort of sigh, as though something pained him but he would not voice it.  "You never knew Atira, Morgainne, merely Apryl, a misplaced child in an ungracious world.  She was _born _into that world; her body was of that time but her soul was not.  Her soul was dying--_that_ was why I sent Frodo for her when I did.  Her time had run out."

            Painfully, he knelt down beside the elf and looked deep into her forest-green eyes.  "Her Earthian body was dying _here_, though her soul flourished, for it is among a land it knows--it is home.

            "The water did not kill Apryl, nor did you or anyone else.  Perhaps her sickness speeded the process but eventually she would have died--her body," he looked at her pointedly, "_not_ her soul," and he spoke firmly.

            Morgainne narrowed her eyes in confusion.  "She's . . . not dead?  Is that what you are saying, Mithrandir?"

            Gandalf sat back and smiled softly.  "Indeed that is exactly what I am saying.  She is here; she is with us," he said, and Morgainne looked around as if she might see her friend.  "Her spirit is here, I can feel it, hear it."  

            Gandalf frowned suddenly.  "But her magic is weak.  She'll need time to build a physical form.  But time is short, for Sauron senses her and knows she has come back."

            Slowly, realization dawned and Morgainne's eyes narrowed.

            "You are leaving soon are you not, Gandalf?" Morgainne asked suddenly.  "To cease this darkness that we all can feel.  I would come with you."

            Gandalf looked at the she-elf in surprise, then frowned.  "Nothing has been decided, I am afraid.  The council has been held off for far too long what with unexpected events.  We will hold a council, however, for there are many a great things that need to be discussed.  Legolas has traveled far from Mirkwood to plead such a case as he has not said, though I fear it is ill."  At this, Gandalf looked hard at Morgainne but she could only shrug.

            "He has told me nothing," was all she would say.

            Gandalf nodded.  "Boromir of Gondor has also come, carrying a message from the Steward I deem and so too have a handful of dwarves traveled far to consult with Elrond.  The times are indeed grave, Morgainne, and I believe you understand that well.  You will go before the council and make this request for there is one of us at least who must go, though I do not think it is you."

            Morgainne made as if to protest but Gandalf held up a hand and she immediately quieted.

            "I am not saying you will not go, merely that you will not be the only one.  Smaller hands than yours or mine must carry this burden but perhaps we will aid in whatever way we may."

            Morgainne did not understand the wizard's words but she said naught, for she often found the ways of the Istari queer.

            Gandalf looked at her for a moment, then spoke quietly.  "Why is it you would make such a request, child?"

            Morgainne did not hesitate.  "Sauron has overstepped his bounds one to many times for my liking.  He has done her more harm than I will allow and I deem he should pay."

            "And you believe you are the one to do this?"

            "No," Morgainne shook her head.  "I know I am not the one.  But I would follow that one and see that it is done, aid if I might, but I go along only to see this satisfaction.  I would see him defeated."

            "Why, child?"

            "You know why, Mithrandir," Morgainne whispered softly.  

            Gandalf sighed.  "Yes, I suppose I do."

            "I have not known her long--I understand this--but she is my friend and he did her a great wrong, did _me _a great wrong, and I will see to it that he is punished."

            The old wizard rubbed his eyes and nodded.  "She is not dead to us," he said, "Not yet.  But if Sauron has his way about it then she will be."  Morgainne looked at him with concern.  "Leave me, child, for I must find her and help her.  Go know and find the hobbits.  See to the youngest . . ."

            Morgainne nodded.  "Peregrin, isn't it?"

            "Aye.  Go to him and try to ease his pain.  Explain what has happened, but only to him, for . . ." Gandalf struggled for the right words ". . . she has not 'touched' the others."  _Not yet, at any rate, as I fear she may, _but he said this only to himself.

            "Watch him closely.  If he is well, then so too is she."

            Morgainne frowned.  "I do not understand."

            "Neither do I," he said, allowing her a tired smile.  "Atira always did have the habit of doing as she pleased."  He was quiet for a moment and then, hesitantly, said, "I think she was lonely and found herself a friend."

            Morgainne flinched.  Gandalf patted her on the arm and smiled kindly.  "Go now, child.  I have a job to do."

            The she-elf nodded and stood.  "May the Father aid your efforts, Mithrandir," she said quietly and left.

            Gandalf watched her go until the shadows swallowed her up and he could see her no more.  "May He aid us all."

            And with that final phrase resting heavy upon his heart, the wizard took a deep breath and closed his eyes . . . .

_            Once again, _she thought with a sigh, _I am alone.  _But perhaps it was not such a horrible thing for she often found herself alone.  It wasn't something new and it wasn't something that she would have to cope with for she had long ago gotten used to being on the "outer circle."  It was just, well, since arriving in Middle-earth she hadn't been ignored.  People actually talked to her and seemed to _enjoy_ it, too.  They not only talked to her but _with _her, and listened to what she had to say in return.  Pippin was very good at that, listening to her, and the idea sort of surprised her.  She figured he'd be the sort to talk your ear off.  

            With all this attention given to her a whole new world was opened up for her to test and explore.  She was no longer watching from the sidelines but was amongst the crowd and active in the events.  And she found that she enjoyed it.

            But now, now she was once again alone.

            _It's not so very bad,_ she decided, though her gaze would often stray toward the empty space to her left.  _At least your home, Pip.  I'll be along shortly, _she figured rationally.  _This world doesn't seem to hold life for very long.  I've returned home before, I'll return again.  _

She smiled wryly.  "Knock on wood."  As soon as the words left her mouth she regretted speaking them aloud and cringed as her voice echoed about as though she were in a large empty room or a tunnel of some sort.

            She glanced around nervously, getting the impression that the world disapproved of her disrupting its eternal silence.  She would have apologized had she thought there was someone out there to hear how sorry she was.  Almost instantly, however, she regretted the thought, for anyone out there could not be someone she would want to meet.

            _Better to be alone than to be with . . . with some_thing_ else, _she decided.  Moments passed and she peered around, noting with quiet apprehension how _silent_ this world actually was.  There was not a sound.  No whispering wind, no rustle of leaves, no birds singing or bugs buzzing.  At this point, Apryl would have even welcomed the sounds of her own world--the rumbling of cars, the chatter of television, the shouts and yells of thoughtless, in-too-much-of-a-hurry humans.

            _Careful what you wish for,_ Apryl chided herself, _it might just come true._

The thought wasn't such a terrible one she realized, for there was indeed some aspects of her own world that she missed a lot.  Her mother for one.  She couldn't help it.  Though they often had there differences Apryl had long ago realized how lucky she actually was.  She and her mother did not have the typical mother-daughter relationship.  They could confide in one another and they oftentimes did.

            _I hope she knows I'm alright, _she thought sadly.  _I hope she's alright.  Corryn, too.  She's probably taken my disappearance pretty hard.  _

Apryl suddenly missed her younger sister more than she thought possible.  Her gut ached with the loss, both of her mother and her sister.  She even missed her younger brothers, Brian and Allen, who could be such a pest as younger brothers only could be.

            _Dad, too,_ she decided of her stepfather.  She had never really liked Bert, though she could not deny that she _did _love him.  She had known him since she was six after all.  He just sort of grew on you after a while.

            _There were times I liked him, though they weren't many.  _She sighed.  _I do miss him though._

_            And Daddy-Larry_, she recalled her real father who had been more of an uncle than a father over the past sixteen and a half years.  _I miss him, too.  I miss them all._

A chilling, disquieting thought settled in her stomach.  _What if I never see them again?  What if I never go back?  _She realized suddenly that she said 'back' and not 'home' and the thought sent a shiver through her spine--whether because the idea thrilled her or frightened her she wasn't all that certain.

            In one hand Apryl held everyone she had ever known and loved, people who cared for her . . . _because I'm me.  I'm Apryl.  _In the other hand she held a whole other world with people she had only read about but cared for and for which cared for her in return. . . _because, to them, I am Atira.  A girl I do not know, let alone _am_.  They don't know _me_._

She weighed either hand, as one would weight the value of gold to silver on a scale.  The hand that held Earth sank down as the hand that held Middle-earth slowly rose up.

            _But the hobbits.  _She recalled how warm and friendly they were towards her and knew that it was not because she was Atira but because she was Apryl.  _They were kind to me because they liked _me_.  Apryl, not Atira._

The weight shifted.

            _My . . . h-home.  _Earth was her home, whether it was where she was from or not.  Gandalf said she was _from _Middle-earth but Earth was her _home_.  She didn't know Middle-earth.  It was a foreign, alien place to her.  (She pointedly neglected to note the fact that while on Earth she had been desperately attracted to the 'novel', _The Lord of the Rings_ which had been centered around Middle-earth.)

            The hand that held Earth sank slightly.

            _Morgainne.  _Morgainne was Apryl best friend, a combination of her mother and sister, though different altogether.  Morgainne was . . . _of Earth, _thought Apryl immediately and almost automatically but then there was a twinge of doubt that she did not understand.  _Middle-earth, _was whispered in her conscious.

            The scale fell even; Earth and Middle-earth were equal, indisputable.

            _I have no home, _she realized miserably, as she looked from one to the other in a desperate hope that one would fall while the other would rise.  Neither moved.  _Not anymore.  Earth was home but it isn't anymore.  But neither is Middle-earth.  It's not _my_ home; it's Atira's.  I have no home.  _The thought left her suddenly with a very bleak and empty heart.

            _If I have no home than certainly I have no one, for I will always be an outsider.  _She looked around miserably at the blackened landscape.

            _I feel terribly wretched.  _And she did.  Her insides boiled with so many different emotions that it was making her physically ill.  She laid down upon the cold ash and closed her eyes sleepily.            

            _Should one tire in a world that isn't a world? _she wondered absently as her body soaked up the earth's cold.  _One wouldn't think so . . . ._

And as she slept in that world that wasn't a world, her physical form that dwelt upon Middle-earth died.  Her soul no longer had the strength of will to maintain in.  Her spirit was tired; exhausted with grief, confusion, and so many other scrambling emotions that one could wonder at how she remained sane.  She was sane though, even if she herself doubted it.

            She was just very tired and she needed to sleep.

            Rest, however, was the last thing one should entertain in the Otherworld, for she who was known as the Child of Sorrow was not the only one to find themselves trapped in the In-Between.


	21. A Vow of Vengance

Disclaimer:  ::sigh::  Not mine.

A/N:  I would like to thank those of you who are gutting through this and reviewing for me.  Even if you write "thumbs up" or "thumbs down" I don't mind.  I just like to know what my readers think and if my writing is or isn't going down hill.  Thanks everyone!

And the tale continues . . . .

Chapter 21

A VOW OF VENGANCE

            Glorfindel watched the body burn.  To any observing, the elf's eyes seemed hard and cold, uncaring and unmoved.  He did not cry nor weep nor do any such mourning as all outward appearances would show.

            Many of the elves whispered that Glorfindel was in shock, for countless and more remembered those days so long ago when he and the young Maia would walk the gardens, doing not save talking for hours.  Sometimes one could spy them running about but only rarely and when the two didn't think they were being watched.  And indeed none saw save Elrond, and occasionally the Istari, Gandalf, and the elf and Maia would spend countless days in the woods whenever Mithrandir and the child would stop at the Last Homely House . . . .

            _"I'm leaving tomorrow," she told him.  "I think it's time I return to the Periannath."_

_            "You miss them?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant but not entirely succeeding._

_            She peered at him out of the corner of her eyes but made as if she did not note the slight catch in his voice.  "Very much," she replied.  "It's been a long time . . . I think . . . nearly fifty years, I believe."_

_            Glorfindel looked up into the blue sky.  "Fifty years isn't so long."_

_            "Not for you or I," she smiled at him, "but for a Periannath . . . well, I should say some of my small friends are all but gone," and she gave a quiet sort of sigh.  I should not have been gone for so long . . . but, then, there are so many lands and I come when Nienna calls."_

_            "I am glad you came here," Glorfindel said suddenly and Atira smiled.  _

_            "So am I," she said truthfully.  "It's so very peaceful here.  I almost like it better than Lórien.  It's . . ." she sought for the right word ". . . different.  More real, I suppose.  Not like the West."_

_            Glorfindel chuckled.  "That is why my kind likes it."_

_            Atira frowned.  "Yes, I suppose you are right."  She peered at her friend intently.  "But do not let that which is out of reach cloud your vision.  Open your eyes and see what you have right within reach before you try for that which is beyond your grasp."_

_            "Not forever, though."_

_            Atira shook her head in agreeance.  "No, not forever."  She reached over and grasped his hand within hers.  "You'll get there someday, my friend, and when you do I know you will love it.  Just don't be too eager.  Stick around a while."_

_            The elf looked at her sadly, then embraced her.  "I wish you would heed your own advice," he said softly.  "I wish you wouldn't go so soon."_

_            "Come with me, then," she breathed._

_            He brushed a strand of wavy brown hair back behind one of her pointed ears and sighed inwardly.  Sometimes it was so easy to forget that she wasn't elven.  Only her hair indicated such and Glorfindel often times even forgot that trivial detail.  It wasn't her looks that he loved so much though.  Had it been possible to love her openly . . . tell her how he felt.  How could she not suspect?  She must.  But then, she was a Maia and those like him where beneath those of her kind.  That was enough to put an end to anything.  _

_             Slowly, Glorfindel pulled away._

_            "You know I can't," he said.  "Elrond would have me here--"_

_            "And Gandalf would have _me_ with _him_," she said, a hint of anger in her voice but it was gone almost immediately.  "But I have my own path that I must take--we all do."_

_            Glorfindel opened his mouth as if to say something but she just shook her head.   "I cannot stay and you cannot go.  It looks like once again we will have to say goodbye."  _

_            "I guess so," he agreed reluctantly.  "So . . . I suppose I ought say it, huh?"_

_            Atira smiled.  "Why say it now when we will only say hello again?  We always do."_

_            "Aye," Glorfindel nodded._

_            "This is only one more goodbye," she smiled and her eyes alighted in that mischievous way of hers.  Glorfindel couldn't help but grin.  "Let's not say it this time," she said, "Let's pretend I'm not leaving that way when I come back it will be like I was always here."_

_            "Alright," he agreed.  "No goodbyes."_

_            Atira nodded.  "I shall be back before you know it anyhow," she promised._

_            "How long _will_ you be gone," Glorfindel wondered._

_            Atira's grey eyes twinkled.  "But I won't be gone."  And she kissed him lightly upon the cheek . . . ._

But she _had_ been gone and she _hadn't_ come back.  None knew for certain what had happened on her journey to the Halfling's land.  All anyone could say was that Sauron had somehow intercepted her--some said she ran into a band of orcs--others said, and this number was few, that for some reason none could fathom _Atira_ went in search of _Sauron_,and from there history unraveled itself.

            Glorfindel didn't know and neither did anyone else.  They only thought they did.  Glorfindel didn't even think that much.

            The flames licked high and the fire's smoke blotted out the blue sky.  Glorfindel could no longer see her and he was glad, for he was suddenly sick.  Without a word, without a break in his carefully constructed mask, he turned and left.

            Morgainne had no more tears.  She had used them up the night before and all that morning when she tried to calm the small hobbit.  If she hadn't known any better she would have thought him mad.  He would not let anyone near him, not even his cousin, Meriadoc, or the stout little halfling, Sam, but would scream and flail about or when none threatened to get close, curl up upon the bed and mutter unintelligibly and sob.  Though his eyes were open they were not alive but glazed and seemed not to look upon the world around him but note a time or place far different from the waking world.  He was not aware of anything, save his grief and pain.

            She had tried everything but it was to no avail.  Finally, in defeat she had left the hobbit child to his fellows, not having the heart nor patience to deal with such.  It was not until she left them that she recalled Frodo and realized he had not been there with the others.  She asked around but none had seen him and she thought that odd for he was the Ring-bearer and all would note his passing.  None did however.  And then a sudden, horrible thought had come to her but she had immediately dismissed it.  Mithrandir had told her of the Ring and its power.  She knew its abilities plus a lot more . . . but he would never . . . he wouldn't possibly . . .

            That's what she told herself, anyway.

            It was late afternoon and though the sky was not yet beginning to darken the smoke took care of what light the sun was offering.  She watched the body burn until she couldn't see it anymore but never took her eyes away.

            _Sauron, you will pay.  _

An elf standing next to her turned began to make his way through the crowd and she noted his passing only because he brushed up against her as he turned to leave.  She recognized him of being one of Lord Elrond's elves and she wondered at his departure.  But he left her mind nearly as swiftly as he had come, for a hand slipped into her own.  She squeezed it briefly and her gaze fell back to the flames.

            _Sauron, you _will_ pay.  _

She had no reason to doubt herself.

*     *     *     *     *

            Hobbits weren't known for their climbing ability but that made no matter.  If you found the right hobbit then you could have found a hobbit that could climb trees.  In the case of Frodo Baggins you'd have found the right hobbit.

            The gift of climbing had come to him when he was young, about the time when his parents had died.  At the time it had seemed like people were always trying to find him, to comfort or offer condolences and at first Frodo could find no way to escape.  Eventually, however, he had sought out the trees and indeed they had been the perfect solace.  He'd doze in their branches all day, far away from life below, and find the comfort that he needed.  

            Only one had ever guessed his hiding place and that had been dear old Sam Gamgee.  The lad had been young at the time, nowhere near his tweens and he had wondered curiously at his master's odd behavior.  But he never asked nor told a soul.  He kept it to himself for that's what he figured Frodo wanted.

            Oftentimes Frodo was tempted to tell Sam, or Merry, or even little Pippin, but in the end he never would.  He always liked to imagine their faces:  Sam would probably be a little disapproving but otherwise wouldn't say much; he never did.  Merry would tell his cousin to get down before he broke his neck but have an envious glint in his eye the entire time.  Pip would laugh and look at him appraisingly and probably climb right on up.  

            Frodo sighed.

            He loved them so much but there were some things you couldn't even share with your closest of friends.

            _Especially if you don't even understand it yourself._

He didn't understand the tears that ran down his cheeks nor the sudden emptiness in the pit of his gut.  He didn't even _know_ Apryl, not really.  She had been a goal at first.  Something he had strived to find and then to save.  Sure, she had been kind to him and he had fun talking with her but he hadn't _known _her.  Not like Morgainne, or Gandalf seemed to.

            But he had a right to be upset, for he _had_ known her however short a time that was and now she was dead.  Of course he had a right to mourn for someone who had just died.  Didn't they all?

            Suddenly, he laughed.  It was a sick sort of laugh--bitter and cold.

            _I tried so hard to find you, Apryl, but I never did.  Not really._

The wind whispered in the boughs of the tree and the leaves rustled softly.

            _None of this is going as planned, _he thought mournfully.  _Adventures sure aren't what they're cracked up to be.  I'm glad I'm going home.  I'm tired, so very tired._

He glanced around, sniffled.  _I wonder what's to become of the Ring? _he mused, pulling the chain from beneath his tunic.  The golden band glinted brilliantly in the rays of the moon.

            _So beautiful . . . . _

            He held it in the palm of his hand, gazed at it longingly.

            _I'm so tired . . . my head hurts . . ._

Frodo dropped the Ring and put his head in his hands.  His temples throbbed and he rubbed at them but it was to no avail.  The pain lasted until dawn and then weakened and, finally, was gone.

            He was tempted to sleep in the tree but knew the outcome of such a stunt.  The hobbit climbed down, curled up at the trunk's base.

            _Perhaps today I will finally be rid of this accursed thing . . . _was his last thought before he fell into a fitful sleep.


	22. The Dark Lord

Disclaimer:  Not mine.  Tolkien's.

Chapter 22

THE DARK LORD

            He was an older man, not quite in his eighties, hobbling along on the black desert, walking as though he had done so for miles, though Apryl had not noted his presence before and the land was vast and flat--she ought to have noticed him before now, she deemed.  

            The man wore a brown and battered suit with an untucked shirt peeking through his unbuttoned jacket.  It hung limply from his thin frame, made thinner by his overlarge, smudged shoes.  In his left hand he carried a worn suitcase, in his right a cane, and upon his small, slightly up-turned nose a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched precariously and, oddly enough, they glinted--an effect Apryl was not too distracted to note as there was nought for them to be reflected _from_.  He smiled wide at the sight of her, laughter-lines crinkling merrily about his bright blue eyes.

            At first, she did not know what to make of him, for he was the last sort of person she expected to see, indeed she had honestly expected there to be none save her in all this endless land.  It took her a moment for the man's odd attire to affectively register and when it did she was first overjoyed, for he was obviously from her world and to see such familiarity was a wondrous thing after living for weeks away from anything recognizable; but then the wonder vanished and it was replaced instantly by dread, for this man was from _her world!_

_            Everything's falling apart! _she realized, horrified, and more than a little weary with all that had happened.  _More people--as if I weren't enough of a disaster!_

She was, however, curious and despite the qualms she had, Apryl picked herself up and stumbled out to meet this odd being.__

"Good day to you, my dear," he called out and the warmth in his voice came to her as a blessing.  She wanted to bask in it, for it was such a contrast to the twisted world about her.

            "Hullo," she called, her walk becoming a little steadier.

            As they met halfway, he gave her a sheepish sort of grin and asked, "You wouldn't happen to know the shortest way to Sherry Drive, would you?  I seem to have taken a wrong turn somewhere."  He looked behind him and eyed the deadened land skeptically.  "My surroundings have the nasty habit of changing when I'm not looking," he said, turning back around.  "My granddaughter tells me I'm getting simple-minded, but _I_ know better."  He gave an over dramatized sigh.  "But such is the case with the young today--getting ideas that they have a better grasp on the world.  Better than _I_!  Me, who has been around . . ." he stopped, seemed to think about this and then shrugged.  "Well, a lot longer than she has at any rate.  Why I'm as chipper as when I was fifty!" and he demonstrated this by waving his cane about wildly--Apryl had to duck to avoid getting her brains bashed out.

            "Why she thinks she needs to look after me, I'll never know . . . she seems to have a difficult enough time taking care of herself," and suddenly the man's carefree and happy behavior vanished and he looked at her pointedly.  "The world is a most dangerous place," he added, his voice firm and, yet, at the same time quite soft.

            Suddenly, the air about him rippled and waved, and the short man before her vanished for nought save an instant and then flashed back into appearance.  Apryl gasped.

            In that portion of a second that the old man had gone, Gandalf had stood in his place, tall and, as ever, robed in gray.  He gave her a quick and knowing look before he was gone and the old man in glasses was back.  

            Apryl opened her mouth, struggling to say something, but the man shook his head, put a finger over his lips.

            _Say nothing!  Think nothing! _came the sharp reply, but it was so fast and fleeting that Apryl wondered if she had indeed "heard" it.  It was not like when she had 'talked' to Pippin, it was different some how.  _You are in terrible danger, my child._

_            Danger? _Apryl wondered.  _What do you mean?_

_            Shhh!  Do not think.  He can 'hear' you.  That is why he is so close.  You must stay 'silent'._

_            I cannot _not _think, _Apryl reasoned angrily.  _It is impossible!_

_            Try, _Gandalf told her.  _Do not think in words, but in pictures.  Keep your mind chaotic._

The old man with glasses smiled at her warmly and she felt her body relax.  Danger wasn't something she needed to concern herself with, not when this man stood right next to her.  He would keep her safe, she was almost certain of it.

            She thought of odd things, then, trying to do as Gandalf had told her.  She thought of people in her own world and of things that held little consequence, things that did not interest her very much but would keep her mind preoccupied.  All the while, though, she kept her mind open to _receive_, for she would not miss what the old man had to say.

            He nodded approvingly, more for her efforts than for the results, for though her mind was indeed chaotic it held things, information, that Gandalf would not have the Dark Lord see.  But it couldn't be helped.  She did not remember anything of Before so she could not remember her abilities and the power she had wielded.  It was a complicated issue, one made all the more so for the fact that time was short--and Apryl _needed_ time, for her to be able to leave this deadened world.  He told her as much.

            _I cannot stay here with you, _he told her quickly.  _I must return.  There are things I must take care of that, I am afraid, are of greater import._

Apryl did not begrudge him this.  She knew why he had to return.

            _You must find the strength, my child, to save yourself this time.  Frodo will not be able to help you, nor will I or any other.  You know a little history of our time, do you not? _and he knew she did, for had she not read _that book_?  _Use it and the knowledge you have of the 'magic' bestowed upon the Maiar.  Remember, child, that Sauron is no different from us.  No matter what some may believe, his ways _are_ ours._

And the old man with the wire-framed glasses gave her a final comforting smile and, much the same way Pippin had, faded away.

            _Keep your mind chaotic, _she told herself, _Keep it chaotic.  _But no matter how hard she tried her thoughts always came back to what the wizard had told her.

            _Is he listening now? _she wondered, looking about her sharply as if she might spot Sauron sneaking up on her, ready to pounce upon her at any moment.  He was nowhere, though . . . 

            _And neither am I.  _She sighed, then, and decided that if she wanted to return home--_its as much my home as anywhere else_--than she might as well do as the wizard had told her.

            _But what did he mean--'. . . Sauron is no different that us.  No matter what some may believe, his ways are ours.'_ _ 'Us,' 'we'?  The Maiar, I suppose.  Sauron _is _the same when you think about it, _she agreed silently, _for he is as much a Maiar as, say, Gandalf.  The only difference is that he chose a darker path, he chose the path of Melkor . . . _Apryl shook her head if frustration.  _But what does that have to do with _me_?!_

            Suddenly, Apryl realized that perhaps it didn'thave anything to do with her . . . but had _everything _to do with Atira.  

            _She's a Maiar, after all._

_            '. . . his ways _are _ours.'_

_            What did Gandalf _mean_?!_

            _Exactly what he said, _and Apryl knew who it was that spoke.

            She looked around her, her eyes sharp and searching.  If she could only see him . . . but, then again, some things were best left to the realm of darkness.  He was, after all, the Dark Lord Sauron, a faceless menace to a fading world.  She had read about him but had never 'seen' him for he had never shown himself.  Sometimes the worst fears manifested from the unknown.

            The girl felt cold sweat bead upon her forehead.

            _Child of Sorrow, she is I see, _something voiceless said and the land darkened, cooled, if that was at all possible.  _But how is this so, for she of Nienna was dispelled, banished to the Beyond.  How is it she now comes to the In-Between?_

Apryl could not have managed a reply had she even thought to give one.  The Dark Lord did not give off the effect of a conversationalist.  No, he was someone who talked and _all_ listened, whether man, beast, bird, or plant.  One did not _talk_ to Sauron, one only listened.

            _She does not remember me? _came the mildly surprised reply._  She knows me but does not remember.  How interesting.  She walks my land, she who is of the Tears.  This is not the first time, for she once before walked my land of shadow.  Why is she here again?  Does she not remember, I wonder?  Does she not remember the pain?  _

_            How is it she returns?  How does she come to be?_

The thoughts in her head were fast, fleeting, hard to grasp and much harder to comprehend.  She wondered at how long they had been among this world and had the odd impression that they had always been here, though she had not been able to "hear" them until now. 

            _Did Pip? _she wondered.

            _The Halflings, yes, _came the response.  _She is quite fond of the Halflings . . . like before . . ._

_            Before?_

_            Before she was banished.  Before she forgot.  Before she was forgotten._

            _Before what? _she wondered.  _What happened?  _She did not direct the questions _to _Sauron, like she would have to Gandalf or Pippin, but merely thought them inside her head.  Though she questioned, the foreboding grew and slowly, quite slowly, she backed up, as though she thought she might escape, for she knew to whom she spoke and she wanted nothing to do with him.  A wave of amusement hit her, for that is as best as it could be explained, and she almost wept with this realization that escape was a hopeless, not forthcoming thing.

            _She wishes to run?  She wishes to escape?  Why doesn't she?  Is she weak, powerless?  _After a moment,_ Yes, I think she is.  How . . . delightful._

*****


	23. Apples and Carrots

Chapter 23

APPLES AND CARROTS

            The hobbit spun his walking stick in one hand, twirling it effortlessly so that all could be seen of the staff was an unrecognizable blur.  With a flick of a delicate wrist, the hobbit launched the short stick into the air and watched it spin high and free before making its decent back to the ground where first it was found.  The hobbit eyed the stick warily, watching it fall, his hand flashing out at the last in such a way as to smartly snatch it from gravity's fingers.

            As ever before, his finger's fumbled and the staff fell to the earth with a dull _thud_.

            Kharutis hissed in pain and sucked on his injured fingers, all the while glaring accusingly at the discarded stick.

            A light breeze ruffled his graying curls and with its calming presence Kharutis detected a musical note upon its wings.  Laughter--a child's, light and carefree--smoothed the frown from the hobbit's features, bringing a smile instead, both to his lips and eyes.

            "How fair you, my dearest of Carrots?" came a pleased and most pleasant voice from the woods.  

            The hobbit glanced around, knowing he wouldn't be able to spy the speaker even though he knew she was close.  Closer, even, than he thought her to be.

            "Finer now that I hear the voice of one long missed!" he replied merrily.  "And you, of the golden fruit, how do you fair on this beautiful day?"

            A shadow detached itself from a nearby tree.  "As only an apple can when she is reunited with her carrot," and she grinned such a smile that her eyes glimmered majestically.  It was a joke between them, one started by Atira when first she had met Kharutis.  He had hardly come into his _tweens _when she had bumped into him in the wild that night so long ago . . . .

            _Either one fell over backwards, the girl only because she stumbled over a rock, the lad because of his stature--or lack of.  The wood was as dense as anything; Atira was lucky she had spied the lad at all.  It hadn't mattered though, for there hadn't been enough time._

_            She sat herself up in the mud (it had rained the night before) and peered over at the flailing hobbit.  She recognized him as such at once, for she had seen aplenty on many occasion and had even befriended more than she could recall over the years.  This lad, however, took her by surprise, for none could be found in this country; indeed, not for many miles away and it was a rare occasion when one of the small people could be found so far from home and all alone at that._

_            Her curiosity instantly peeked, Atira was about to inquire upon the subject.  However, before she could open her mouth to say ought to the lad, let alone get to her feet, he was up and off as fast as anything, giving her hardly a glance. _

_            "Wait!" she called out and at the last the lad hesitated, turned long enough to give her a shouted warning:_

_            "Orcs!"_

_            He disappeared within the trees' shadows._

_            Atira leapt to her feet, floundered a bit in the mud, and was after the youth barely before the first arrow whizzed past her flying legs.  Guttural laughter was soon to follow and if the broad, black arrows hadn't identified the hobbit's pursuers then the harsh tongue that followed most certainly did._

_            The child's features twisted in disgust as she was able to comprehend their taunts._

_            "One for lunch, one for fun--we're gonna have ourselves a good time tonight!"_

_            In the Common Tongue:  "Food run fast, but we run far.  You stop now, save time?  Yes?"  Harsh laughter followed._

_            Atira could now see the hobbit again and instantly knew the chase had been going on for some time.  The lad stumbled and fell more than once (in just the time she spotted him) and she could hear his harsh gasps all the way from where she ran, a good distance behind him._

The poor lad, _she thought mournfully.  _

_            Another arrow hissed by, missing her right ear by scant more than an inch.  It imbedded itself into a nearby tree.  She paid it very little mind.  _Creatures of Dark, _she thought in disgust.  _They feed off fear as much as flesh.  Before the night is through they shall have both from this wee one.

            That is, if I haven't a say in the matter.

            _Quicker than it took for a single thought to form, Atira skidded to a stop and spun on her heels to face the creatures.  Several stopped themselves, taken aback by this child's sudden unconcern and bravado.  Most, however, didn't skip a beat and would have run her through with their spears had she not weaved the magic around a single thought and released it with an exaltation of that very word._

_            "Eru," she breathed and the magic exploded.  It burned, scorched, marred, and maimed all not of the Father's creation.  It did not kill however.  Atira did not kill._

"They are creatures of Dark," _Atira had agreed with Gandalf a long while ago.  _"But they are also living, breathing things with souls of there own no matter how tattered their Self may be.  They cannot help what they have become . . ." _and she looked at him with as much pain in her eyes as Gandalf felt in his heart.  _"Olórin," _she said softly, _"I _know_ some of them."  _And she did, just as everyone did, for the orcs had all at one time been elves.  Now they were twisted, deformed by the thoughts and malice of Sauron._

            _The orcs fled the young Maia's magic._

_            Atira watched them in grim satisfaction.  The sorrow she had once felt towards her lost friends was nowhere as deep as before--time eased the pain and made apparent the awful need to protect and defend against these creatures who, in another time, she had enjoyed the beauty of the world with.  These creatures enjoyed nothing now.  Only the misery of another could lighten their mood.  They knew not save anger and pain._

            _Her mood did not lighten as they scurried away, if anything it darkened._

_            With a shake of her head, she turned aside.  Atira had no worries that they would return, for orcs, by nature (if one could term it that), were a craven lot.  They feared magic.  They feared it because it was the core of their pain._

Sauron the Deceiver, _she thought bitterly, _Father of Lies.

            _A cry suddenly rent the air.  It was then she recalled the halfling._

_            She found the lad entangled in some shoots and recognized them instantly as Snatchers.  Hurriedly, she removed a dagger from the sheath at her hip and hacked mercilessly away at the vines.  Before the greenery could lash back, Atira grabbed the halfling by his shirt collar and half-dragged, half-carried him a safe distance away.   Atira more collapsed upon the ground than sat as she released her hold on him.  No matter their appearance, hobbits were _not_ light creatures._

_            "You have a knack for this don't you?" she asked after a moment, finally catching her breath._

_            The halfling watched the Snatchers in a horrified sort of fascination as the vines writhed upon the ground for a time seeking its escaped prey, before finally stilling, as though it had always been.  It could wait.  Something just as tasty was bound to come along._

_            Blinking, the hobbit glanced at his rescuer.  "A knack for what?" he asked._

_            She wiped some mud from her cheeks, realizing too late that it also adorned her hands and she was accomplishing nothing save spreading the dirt further across her features.          _

_            She grinned.  "For getting yourself in trouble.  Orcs and Snatcher all in one day--what a feat!"  She laughed._

_            "Orcs!" the hobbit youth cried, remembering the earlier menace.  He had become distracted--_

_            The lad leapt to his feet and made as if to shoot once again off into the woods._

_            "Wait!" Atira cried, before he could take two steps.  He turned cautiously, his eyes darting behind the girl nervously, as though he feared the orcs would burst through the trees at any moment.  Atira was afraid that with any movement on her part he would take off faster than a startled rabbit and there wouldn't be anything she could do to stop him.  "It's alright," she assured him.  "The orcs left."_

_            "They left?" he asked suspiciously, not relaxing his stance in the least._

_            She nodded.  "They gave up, I think," she said, somewhat truthfully, "Probably bored with the hunt.  It's alright; they're gone."_

_            The hobbit looked at her questionably and the girl merely nodded._

_            "Wouldn't they be here by now?" she asked pointedly and the hobbit seemed to think about this.  "Would I still be here if they wanted my blood," she smiled and shook her head, "I think not."_

_            The lad saw the logic in this and visibly relaxed.  So much in fact that he slumped to the ground, but as she was about to crawl over to him to see how he faired she spied a relieved and grateful smile on his dirtied face.  Atira smiled at him kindly._

_            "Are you well?" she asked._

_            The hobbit gulped in several large breaths of air before answering and when he did he could merely nod._

_            "Sorry about bumping into you like that," she said, "but I'm afraid I didn't see you.  And in any case, I'm rather glad I did."  And she was.  If she hadn't, she had the sickening feeling that this hobbit would right now be spitted on a stick roasting over a crackling fire.  Atira hurriedly banished the thought, fearful she would lose her meal._

_            "So am I, lady," the lad finally managed and smiled at her thankfully.  "I owe you my life."_

_            "Atira," the child offered the only name she gave to mortals.  She understood most expected two names but she only had one to offer.  The halfling didn't seem to mind._

_            "Kharutis Tôk," he offered, just as clipped.  Atira was slightly surprised, as all other Periannath she had come across had given her both their full name and a title of some sort.  Kharutis however didn't seem inclined.  Oddly enough, this intrigued her.  Something else did, too._

            _"Kharutis," she mused aloud, then giggled.  The lad peered at her, mildly offended._

_            "Something wrong?" he asked suspiciously, defiantly and purposely leaving off the respectful term 'milady'.  Atira noted this immediately and liked the halfling all the more for it._

_            "It fits so perfectly," Atira realized, noting his odd hair coloring for the first time.  Most halflings, she had found, were commonly brown-haired or, more rare still, blonde.  She had never, not once in all her travels, seen a Periannath with orange hair.  It wasn't an orange-orange, per say, but more of a light brown with orange streaks.  It was an interesting coloring.  It reminded Atira of autumn._

_            "What does?" he demanded, crossing arms over his thin frame and Atira couldn't help but laugh aloud.  He looked so ridiculous sitting in the mud, his face cast into a dark frown._

_            "Your name," she managed finally, a little ashamed at the way her amusement was surely coming across to him.  "Kharutis sounds and awful lot like 'carrot' and what with your hair--"_

_            The lad's frown turned into a scowl.  "_Oh_," he said in an over-dramatized manner, throwing his arms wide, his voice etched with exasperation, "Like I haven't heard _that_ one before."  He got to his feet, turned and began retracing his steps back the way he had come._

_            "Like I'm the only one with an amusing name," he muttered to himself.  "What kind of name is 'At_ee_ra' anyway?  Could be '_apple_' for all the world cares.  But it's not apple and mine's not '_carrot_'.  But does anyone care?  Nope!  No one cares that _my . . . name . . . is . . . KHARUTIS!_" he cried more to the world as a whole than to any one in particular.  He was clearly exasperated with the entire business._

_            Atira could only stare.  She had never seen anything like it . . . ._

The name had just sort of stuck after that. . . and so had 'Apple'.  Atira didn't mind.  Olórin was allowed his names among the mortals, why shouldn't she have her own.  Besides, Kharutis was given a sort of satisfaction by calling her 'Apple'.  She wondered at it but never asked, for she suspected it had to do with his family and she had learned early on that this was a sore subject to brooch.  All she knew of the matter was that he had left and had vowed not to return.  There first meeting had been Kharutis's second week out on his own.  She never liked to think about where he might be if she hadn't have found him, or where _she_ might be for that matter.  They'd been through a lot together.

            Kharutis laughed aloud and Atira suddenly noted a roughness to his voice.  Peering closely at her friend, whom she had not seen for a very long time, she noted with some distress that he had changed.  His once smooth, youthful face had been worn down by time; laughter lines crinkled his eyes and were also evident around his mouth.  His hair, too, showed signs of age, for it was graying most noticeably.

            Atira wondered at the halfling's age and determined with quiet sorrow that he must be in his seventies, at the very least.

            Despite this, the child hid the disquiet, for she would not sadden this occasion, one in which she had longed for for quite some time.

            She knelt upon the ground and opened her arms wide and the hobbit embraced her in return.  "I have missed you, my friend," she said, her words muffled for her face was buried in his cloak.

            "It has been too long," Kharutis agreed, and then as an after thought, "For me at least.  I'm sure it is not but a blink of an eye for one of the Elven Kin."

            "A painful blink, my small friend," Atira said with a sigh, for though she was not of Elvish blood she looked to be and had never told her friend otherwise.  He had never seen her use magic and since their first meeting she had never been forced to again.  It was not a difficult lie to uphold.

            The two stayed in the glade in which they had found each other, setting up camp some distance off the road--a road that was more of a trail than ought else.  They talked long into the night, telling of things new and old, accounting travels apart and recalling adventures shared.  Atira enjoyed the latter much more readily than the former, for it saddened her heart and gave evidence to how long they had truly been apart.  It was not until the sky began to lighten with dawn that the hobbit's head began to nod and he finally fell asleep.  With a smile, Atira unbuckled her own cloak and laid it gently upon her friend, then patiently waited the dawning of a new day.


	24. 'The Time Has Come'

Disclaimer:  Nope, not I . . . er, mine.  Not mine.

A/N:  _Finally_, the Council of Elrond.  Basically this is a brief outline of what we all know to be that very long and tedious chapter of LotR known as 'The Council of Elrond'.  This version is shortened up, basically explaining some additional things and giving you a view of the character's thoughts.  The italicized is an excerpt from 'The Council of Elrond', the writing's from Tolkien himself . . . which one I wonder?

Chapter 24

'THE TIME HAS COME'

            The Council of Elrond was something of legend, written down by a young man known simply as Tolkien.  He was present through the entire proceeding, though unseen by all save the Master and the wizard.  The historian knew his business and went about it as only he could.  Nothing escaped his notice and so, too, did nought escape his quill.

            All present Tolkien knew, if not personally, then he had at the very least held a decent conversation with each in turn.  There were sixteen present at the Council, including Samwise who sat in a corner (his muscles tense and his gaze ever watchful); but excluding the historian himself, as he was an irrelevant shadow.

            They sat in a circle--in a ring, one might have said--with Master Elrond looking out upon the cold mountains and falling often to the rising sun in the east.  Tolkien noted with a shake of his head that to the elf lord's right sat those of elvish blood, while to his left was first hobbits, humans, and then dwarves.  Erestor, Elrond's chief advisor and long-time friend, sat to his immediate right, his face like a pillar of marble, cool and without emotion.  Two others of the House sat beside Erestor, ever quiet, ever calm, ever impassive as only an elf can be, their attention fixated only on their master, ignoring ought else save the wizard and the curious little halfling.  Elves had little use--little love--for humans and dwarves.

            Beside those of Elrond's House sat Glorfindel.  Tolkien knew this particular elf well and could tell with hardly a glance that the dancing stars that had been seen in his friend's eyes over the last couple of days had suddenly been doused and he was cast into such a shadow of despair that not even that glimmer of defiance he had kept ignited over the years broke surface.  Tolkien was not the only one to note this and worry over it but Elrond understood that there were more important issues to be dealt with, and dealt with immediately.  Some things just had to wait.

            Galdor peered about curiously.  An elf of the Grey Havens and messenger to Círdan the Shipwright, Galdor had no compunctions about letting his emotions show.  Why should one when life was so terribly long?

            Legolas of Mirkwood came next in the circle to Elrond's right and he was painfully aware of it.  Such a place so far from the Master was an insult to any a guest, not to mention one of royal lineage as Legolas most certainly was.  However, the elf was aware of the Council's importance and the very fact that he did not have much to contribute to the immediate crisis, aside from placing one more pain upon an already unbearable burden, and brushed the unintentional wrong aside with as much dignity as he could manage.  He glanced over at Morgainne who sat as stiff as a board in her seat, her face as pale as ever he had seen it.  He didn't dare brush her hand with his as he wanted to, for someone would surely notice the gesture and take immediate offence.  This Council was far too important to be belittled by such trivial emotions.  If the elf didn't understand the comings of the dwarves and humans and, most amazing of all, the halflings, this he did understand at the very least.  He was one; this Council could decide the fate of all.

            Also present, and seated next to the she-elf, was the dwarf Glóin and his son, Gimli.  Either regarded the elves with wariness and Gimli could have even been said to view them with distaste, for when he looked at the Fair Folk his eyes darkened and it couldn't be helped but noted, even with his thick beard, that his lip curled in an obvious sneer.  

            Next to the dwarves sat a Man.  He was tall, well muscled and was finely garbed.  He was Boromir of Gondor and well aware of his importance and the lack of respect given to him.  Unlike the elven prince, Boromir did not see it fitting that he was ignored; however, as had Legolas understood the Council's importance, so too did he and for that very reason did he seethe at the delay.  Over two weeks had passed away since Boromir had arrived and though he had patiently explained to Master Elrond the importance of speaking to him the elf lord had seemed preoccupied with other business and hadn't given the man his full attention until now.

            To the Steward's son's right sat a Ranger, a man cloaked in mystery and who intrigued Tolkien more so even than the hobbits.  The historian could not say why, other than there was something about the man's manner . . . the historian could merely shrug and decide he would watch this one more attentively than the others.  The man seemed to deserve the attention.

            Gandalf, robed in gray, staff in hand and hat upon his head, was seated between Frodo and Bilbo, unusually silent but certainly watchful and more than a little aware, especially of the younger of the two hobbits, who completed the circle and began the Council of Elrond.

            _" 'Bring out the Ring, Frodo!' said Gandalf solemnly.  'The time has come . . .'_

_            There was a hush, and all turned their eyes on Frodo.  He was shaken by a sudden shame and fear; and he felt a great reluctance to reveal the Ring, and a loathing of its touch.  He wished he was far away.  The Ring gleamed and flickered as he held it up before them in his trembling hand."_

And a great evil was revealed to the peoples of Middle-earth that day and all became aware of the lengthening shadow from the east.

            Many things were decided at the Council of Elrond, many issues were brought up (including Morgainne's desire to aid in whatever way she could) and indeed the Council lasted well into the night, ending with those words that Apryl had read so many times, had _wanted _to hear though had feared them, for they were what started Frodo's slow, tedious decent into darkness and she had wanted to be there with him but now she never would:

            "I will take the Ring," Frodo said, "though I do not know the way."

*****

So it begins . . . .


	25. A Failing Path

Disclaimer:  Not mine.  Nope, nada, never.  I love Tolkien for that.

A/N:  Apryl's fears are coming to pass.

Chapter 25

A FAILING PATH

            "Do you think he can do this, Gandalf," Elrond asked, facing the crackling flames of the fire in the Hall.  The day had dawned dismal, gray, and altogether not encouraging.  "It is an awful burden for one so small as he."

            "Yes," the wizard replied after a moment.  "A deadly burden it most certainly is," he mused, "but Frodo is surprisingly strong of will, even for one of his kind.  With a little help--and love, perhaps--I deem there is none other who will accomplish this."  Gandalf seemed reluctant to voice this, as if admitting a truth he had long held at bay.

            "I hope that you are right," Master Elrond said with a nod.  "But in any case he must not go alone."

            "No, certainly not!  I shall go with him at the very least."

            "I think that best," Elrond agreed, and then with a smile:  "And certainly young Gamgee is going."

            Gandalf nodded, slowly.  "Yes, I doubt very much we could separate the one from the other.  But this too I think is good, for where great wisdom oftime fails, friendship holds true to the path that must be taken."

            "Indeed," Elrond murmured.  After a time:

            "I shall speak with the representatives of the other Free Folk, for I deem some of them will aide in our cause."

            "And what of Morgainne, my friend," Gandalf wondered.  "She presented to you her plea and I am more than a little curious as to your dealing with it."

            "Ah, yes," Elrond said, as though recalling another pain.  "I know not, Gandalf," he admitted finally,  "Did you not warn me of the Book?"

            "I did."

            "If we take this business in a careless manner we could destroy any hope we ever had.  At one time, in one world, we of Middle-earth defeated the Shadow--"

            "But at what cost?" Gandalf wondered.

            Elrond waved it aside.  "It matters not, my friend.  That time and place was destroyed the moment the child returned to use.  If we are to defeat the Dark Lord we must not look ahead but concentrate upon the Here, the Now."

            "This is a critical time," the wizard seemed to agree.  "Though who is to say that this is not the will of Eru?"

            Minutes faded into nothingness as both elf lord and wizard were preoccupied with their own thoughts.  After a time, Lord Elrond saw fit to voice his.

            "Tell me, my friend," he said softly.  "The Valar are not given to emotions?"

            The wizard peered sharply at the elf.

            "And if they are not then certainly the Maiar, whom serve the Valar, cannot be controlled by such mortalish behavior."

            "You ridicule me, Master Elrond?" Gandalf asked stiffly.

            "Nay, Mithrandir, I do not ridicule one of the Maiar, but merely do I ask a question of one."

            "Why do you do so when already you know the answer."  Gandalf turned aside, his gaze falling to the flames and then beyond.  Silence followed for a time and as the elf was beginning to realize that perhaps he had gone too far, Gandalf spoke:

            "Yes, my friend, I have spent far too long among mortals, indeed even immortals, for are not the elves more human than they care admit?  But I got careless, for you of the elven kin can afford to be run by emotions alone whereas I of the Maiar cannot."  With a sigh, "Perhaps I made a mistake."

            "I swear to all that is both sacred and foul that if Master Elrond does not grant me this than I shall--I shall . . . do something he will regret!"

            "Do so then," Legolas said with a shrug.  His mind was clouded with his own thoughts and he hardly heard his friend's fuming, "He has no say in what the elves of Mirkwood care to do.  And if I don't mention this business to Father I'm sure he won't have a problem with it either."  He waved the matter aside.  

            Morgainne sat herself down with a groan.  "It is not that simple, my friend.  Master Elrond _does _have a say in what I do.  He has ever since I agreed with my 'assignment', for if Elrond doesn't think I should go Mithrandir certainly wouldn't oppose him.  They are good friends after all."  She sighed.  "I would though (oppose them, I mean), if I wasn't so frightened."

            Legolas jerked out of his reverie and glanced at her in surprise.  "Frightened?"  His voice was disbelieving and rightfully so.  "You?  My dear Lady of the Dark, I don't believe I have ever heard anything of the kind."

            Morgainne frowned in displeasure.  "Don't call me that," she snapped.  "And I _am_ frightened, for the balance is so delicate that I dare not disturb it in the least.  What should become of us if I defied the rightful path merely because of my own fanciful whims."

            Legolas shook his head.  "What are we talking about?" he asked helplessly, suddenly wishing he had been listening.

            "I won'tdefy Master Elrond, I _can't_."  Morgainne ground her teeth in frustration.  "How I want to though!" she hissed.  "I'm such a wretched craven . . . but--but I _can't _chance it.  There is too much to lose and--though I love her with all my heart--not enough to gain."

            "And so you are going to leave us," Meriadoc said softly when Frodo told him of the Council.  

            "Yes," Frodo nodded, slowly.  "Master Elrond has of yet not set a date but I do not believe you shall be rid of us for a while."  He forced a shaky smile.

            "I needn't ask, but--well, Samwise is surely going with you?"

            This time the smile came easily and there was a fondness in his voice when he answered.  "No matter my persistence he will not be deterred.  I think that if I left in the night he would only follow me.  But, to be honest, I am glad he is coming.  I should be awful lonely with nought save Big Folk for company."

            "Who else is going?"

            "It has not been decided, but Gandalf I deem certainly, though the others I know not."

            Merry was quiet and his eyes fell to the elven bed not so very far away where Peregrin slept, if a bit fitfully.  Frodo followed his gaze and his heart ached at what he saw.

            "I should not have let him come," Frodo mourned.

            Merry managed a smile, though no merriment danced in his gaze.  His eyes glistened with grief.  "You could not have stopped him.  Nobody could have.  He is a stubborn lad, you know that Frodo."

            "Yes, but I would see that stubbornness show again, see my cousin laughing heartily, not lying ill in bed for who knows what reason!"  Frodo cursed bitterly.  "This is all my fault, Merry, and I don't care what anybody says.  I should have not let _anyone_ come with me--not you, not Sam, not dear ol' Pip.  I've certainly made a mess of things."  With a ragged sigh he dropped his head into his hands.

            Merry rested a sympathetic hand on his cousin's shoulder.  He knew Frodo had only done all and more of what the elves and humans had asked of him.  If anyone should be to blame, Meriadoc was certain it should be him.  He was after all the one who had thought up the Conspiracy and, even though Pippin had been adamant to carry through with the plan when he himself began to have doubts, still he had let things get too out of hand.  _Pip always has been a pain in the arse to deny.  One of these days it's likely to get him killed . . . if it hasn't already._

"Don't worry about Pip, Frodo," Merry said finally, "I'll look after the lad when you leave.  I won't let ought happen to him, I swear by the Shire."  Merry wrapped his arms around his cousin.  "When you come home Pip will be as obnoxious as ever and then--and then this nightmare will perhaps be over."


	26. Ever After

Disclaimer:  I do not claim the world, the characters, nor anything else that has to do with Middle-earth as my own.  It is Tolkien's and I hope he doesn't mind me "borrowing" them for a time.  I shall return them in due time.

A/N:  I can see you all are getting bored with this story.  I'm sorry for that and I hope your interest returns.

Chapter 26

EVER AFTER

            "Where are we going?" Atira wondered aloud.  From several steps ahead, Kharutis halted and peered back at his companion.      

            "Where are we ever going?" he countered.  In all their travels together, never had either one commented on their destination, for more often than nought they never had one.  It was an unspoken agreement that they would go where their feet and hearts took them.

            "No where," Atira sighed.

            "Is something the matter?"

            At first, Atira said nothing.  Almost a month had gone by since she had left the Last Homely House and already she missed him.  She couldn't help but get this disquieting feeling in the pit of her stomach whenever she thought of him.  She didn't like it.  

            "Carrot?" she ventured finally and they continued on, walking side by side.  "You like the elves, don't you?"

            Kharutis grinned.  "Well, I ought," he said, "You are one after all."

            "Would you like to see more?" she wondered.

            The halfling frowned.  "I have seen more."

            "Then you wouldn't?"  He saw the disappointment in her eyes.  

            "Why, Apple?"

            "I thought that--well, perhaps that you might want to--" she faltered, became instantly hesitant.  She sought out the passing clouds overhead.  "I know you do not talk of them, my friend, but do you never miss your family?"

            Kharutis was caught off guard.  He did not respond immediately but let the question settle for a moment.  Once, a long time ago, he might have gotten upset with her for bringing up those he had long sought to banish from thought.  But the years were an interesting, if weary friend and they had taught him many things and he had listened.

            "Yes," he said finally and Atira looked down at him in surprise.  "I miss them very much indeed.  Sometimes so much that it hurts."  He looked over at her and smiled wearily.          

"Have you not thought to return to them?"

            Kharutis laughed weakly.  "You have no idea how often."

            Atira did not understand.  "So why don't you?"

            The halfling shrugged.  "I am craven."

            Atira laughed.  "Perhaps a long time ago, my friend, when I came across that wee child fleeing a band of orcs.  Perhaps then were you craven, though I deem it not so," she smiled down at him.  "But not know.  Most definitely not now."

            Kharutis merely shook his head of curls.  "Why do you ask me now of my family, Apple, when never before had the thought occurred to you?"

            "Oh, it occurred to me.  You have no idea how often but I never said ought for I saw the pain in your eyes.  Perhaps someday you will tell me what happened?"

            "Perhaps," the halfling said softly, "but not today."

            "No," Atira agreed, "Not today, I think.  Tomorrow maybe, for today we shall turn around upon our very feet and you shall be granted another family."

            Kharutis looked at her oddly.  Atira grinned.

            "Come, what say you to this?"

            "What can I say when I have no idea what you are talking about?"

            "Come back with me to _my_ home, Carrot.  Come see my family."  She grasped his hand within her own and pulled him in the opposite direction they had been going.

            Kharutis laughed.  "I see I have little choice." 

            "Indeed no choice at all.  Please, my Carrot, I want you to meet my family and then perhaps someday I shall meet yours."

            "Very well," the hobbit said finally, seeming to come to a decision.  "Let us return upon the same road you walked and see this place I have never been." 

*     *     *     *     *

            Apryl formed the word but did not speak it aloud.  _Carrot._

            The land chuckled at her discovery.

            _She remembers the little wretch, _Sauron mused and seemed displeased with this.  _Does she remember me? . . . No, she does not recall the Dark Lord whom she defied._

            "Because you killed him," Apryl whispered and her sudden fear of the Dark One vanished.  "You killed him."

_            You _killed _him! _she spat savagely.  _You killed him for no other reason than to sport me on!_

_            A halfling, _he waved it aside.

            _My _friend_!_

The Dark Lord merely laughed at her _mortalish_ sentiments.

            _I see why they call you the _Child _of Sorrow, _he chuckled, highly amused.  _You have the heart of a child.  Foolish and altogether too young.  Grow up, my Lady Atira.  Mortals die, for Eru so chose it to be so.  We all must bow under the will of the Father, _and with this last there was a bitter tone to his thoughts and his lips curled into a disdainful sneer.

            Atira was livid, her face pale with rage.

            _To the Beyond with you, Sauron, _and it was nothing more than a hiss in his own thoughts._  I hope you rot in your own weavings of loneliness and despair._

            And she was gone, vanished from his sight to return to her friend, nothing more save a mangled and altogether unrecognizable body sprawled upon a muddy road in a wilderness far from any inhabitants.  Sauron had seen it fit to discard the body as such.  Atira knelt beside him and wept.

            But as the child disappeared, Sauron straightened in surprise.  His face flushed in anger.

            He had brought her to his land to because he was bored and had decided not too long ago that he was due whatever entertainment he so chose and he had chosen her, for she was weak and vulnerable and for once not in the company of Olórin.  He had weaved his magic about her, both to bring her to him and so that she might not escape.  

            And, yet, she had.  Sauron cursed.  

            Atira had escaped him with seemingly no effort on her part, departed his company with not so much as a by your leave.  The Maia child was not as she appeared and Sauron suddenly realized this.

            _She is great, _the Maia admitted distastefully.  _Perhaps greater even than Olórin, though untrained and unaware of her abilities.  She _is_ a child after all._

Suddenly, her words came back to him.  _'To the Beyond with you, Sauron.  I hope you rot in your own weavings of loneliness and despair.'  _

The Dark Lord smiled.  "I think not, my child,"he said aloud, his thoughts filled with pleasurable malice."May _you _be cast into the Beyond and may _you_ rot in _my _weavings of loneliness and despair."  And Sauron, the Dark Lord of the Land of Shadows, a place inhabitable only to fear, chuckled in quiet amusement.

*****


	27. Light in a Sea of Darkness

Disclaimer:  Don't claim it.

A/N:  I think, Lily Baggins, is that you are right and many of you guys out there miss Frodo and Pippin.  Forgive me for not having them in here of late but I had to do some explaining of Apryl and her past.  I am sorry for how long it took, I did not intend it to be so but I promise that Pippin is returning and will be among us shortly after and a whole lot more.  I _have _missed them, come to think of it.

Chapter 27

LIGHT IN A SEA OF DARKNESS

            She remembered.  She remembered the hobbit whom she called friend.  And she remembered his death.

            The grief Apryl felt then was unlike anything she had ever experienced.  Her mind was clouded with lose and she knew not how to deal with it, for she had loved the halfling more than a Maiar ought, though only as a mortal can.  

            _I know this now.  Atira had loved him but had not admitted such to herself.  She could not, _would _not, for fear of . . . of what?  The pain?  But she felt it anyway.  Was that why Sauron cast her away?  Because she loved and that was wrong?  Surely not._

_            Why has she returned? _His voice was insistent, never ceasing, and so very tiring.__

_            Why indeed?_

            Apryl looked around in the land of blackness and wanted to curse it.  She hated it, despised it and did not altogether know why.  _I feel wretched.  _

            "Why are you here?" she whispered to the darkness, not completely directing the question for answering.  "Why you and none other?  Where is Pippin?  Where is Frodo.  Must I always be alone?!"

            _Yessss, _came a gleeful chuckle, _For when one curses the Dark Lord, they find it as rewarding as cursing themselves._

            "Gandalf where are you?  Why'd you leave me?  I cannot do this alone!  I need help!" 

            But Gandalf the Grey did not come to her, even as he said he would not.  The fate of Middle-earth hung in the balance and if he was forced to sacrifice that of which he loved already had he made the decision to do so.  Apryl realized this and though the fear was great she also understood it.

            _Very well, _she said, as one who's come to realize not what she does will have any effect.  Besides, she had very little to lose.  Perhaps she had never truly been to Middle-earth and if she hadn't she most certainly wasn't going back.

            _I will try, though, and may I learn from Atira.  _

Apryl thought for a moment.  _The darkness consumed her through hate.  She was doomed the moment Kharutis died and I can understand that because . . . because I can remember the pain and hatred . . . but I can learn from it.  Not only that, _Apryl gave a wry smile, _but I have an advantage.  Sauron can harm none that are close to me because he is weak, his only substance is the Eye, and he cannot harm those beyond this plane.  _Somehow she knew this.  Apryl chuckled and the land swelled with anger.  _Eyes do not have weapons, eyes do not have magic.  Eyes do not even have hands in which to grip, claw, or strangle.  _But then she recalled something.  _But they do have black men that ride black beasts.  They do have goblins and orcs and . . . and balrogs.  _Apryl shuddered then, though it was caused by a memory she could not grasp but suddenly realized was there.  It was a memory from a different age, a different mind.

            "I know not what to do . . ."

            She did not have great magic in which to defeat the Dark One, nor was she a mighty warrior.  Apryl felt like nothing more than a helpless child who has lost her mother and all else that she ever held dear.  And like that child who Apryl had not seen in many years, she did something that her mother had taught her when she was very young.  

            "Satan," she whispered aloud, hoarsely, "you cannot touch me.  I have Jesus."  Apryl gulped, closed her eyes.  "Satan, you cannot touch me.  I have Jesus.  He is with me, you must leave."  Over and over, she murmured these words.  She concentrated on nothing save them.  "Jesus is with me, Satan.  I have nothing for you, go away!"  Slowly, quite slowly, Apryl realized she could not hear the quiet musings of the Dark Lord and she wondered at when the voice had truly gone, perhaps it was around the same time her words became slightly altered.  "You cannot touch me, Sauron, for I have Eru.  He is with me, you must flee.  The Father holds me, Sauron.  I have nought for you, get you gone!" 

*****

A/N:  Please, _please, _be honest with me you guys and let me know when your getting bored or if my work is going down hill.  Tell me when you want more Frodo or Pippin or even if you'd like to see Aragorn in there once in a while.  I will listen and squeeze them in there whenever I can.  You have to let me know though.

            Thanks, Lily Baggins, for your honesty!^^


	28. Time Will Tell

Disclaimer:  I claim nothing of Tolkien's for my own.

Chapter 28

TIME WILL TELL

_October_

_              1  Gandalf leaves Bree_

_              3  He is attacked at night on Weathertop._

_              6  The camp under Weathertop attacked at night.  Frodo wounded._

_              9  Glorfindel leaves Rivendell._

_            11  He drives the Riders off the Bridge of Mitheithel._

_            13  Frodo crosses the Bridge._

_            18  Glorfindel finds Frodo at dusk.  Gandalf reaches Rivendell._

_            20  Escape across the Ford of Bruinen._

_            24  Frodo recovers and wakes.  Boromir arrives in Rivendell at night._

_            25  Apryl arrives at Rivendell at dawn.  Apryl, Frodo, and Peregrin fall ill.             Council of Elves, Gandalf present._

_            27  Frodo and Peregrin wake._

_            28  Apryl recovers and wakes at dawn._

_            29  Apryl catches pneumonia.  Peregrin falls ill._

_            31  Peregrin wakes._

_November_

_              2  Death of Apryl._

_              3  Council of Elrond._

Tolkien read over the notes he had scrawled over the last several months and shook his head sadly.

            "Such a short part she played in history."

            Gandalf peered over the historian's shoulder, glanced over the man's tedious work and gave a grunt of disapproval.

            "Something displeases you, Gandalf?" Tolkien appeared amused.  Rare was the case when one criticized his work.

            "I don't like that--'Death of Apryl', nor do I like the usage of that name."

            Tolkien looked at the older man in surprise.  "She told me her name herself.  What would you have me name her?" he asked, truly curious.

            Gandalf merely shrugged.  "Leave it then," he said, "But I would have you change 'Death of Apryl'."  He was silent a moment and Tolkien waited patiently.  Both knew the wizard had no say in the historian's work and that Tolkien only allowed such because none other had ever tried.  He was more curious at the outcome than offended at the old man's criticism.  Finally, Gandalf spoke.

            " 'Apryl passes away,' " he said with a nod.  "Change it to 'Apryl passes away.' "

            Tolkien peered down at the sheaf, seemed to think on it for a moment, and then shrugged.  "Very well, Gandalf, if it pleases you."

            "It would."

            Tolkien dipped the quill lightly in an ink bottle to his right, and scratched out the previous writing and put in its stead:

            _2  Death of Apryl.  Apryl passes away._

Gandalf nodded approvingly.  "I commend your work."

            Tolkien hid a smile.  "And for the final departure," he said, dipping the quill once again.  "The third of January, I believe, is what Master Elrond decided.  Two months to give the Fellowship a sufficient amount of time to prepare."

            Gandalf was peering down at the rough timeline.  "Things have changed," the wizard said, stilling the historian's hand.  

            "Indeed?"

            "Frodo recovered on the twenty-forth of October," Gandalf said quietly, and Tolkien was prepared to agree but realized at the last that the wizard spoke only to himself.  "Had I not asked the lad to fetch the child then the Council would have been held on the following day.  'Two months following the Council,' Master Elrond said."  The wizard frowned.  "Two months."

            Gandalf seemed to come to a decision then and he looked hard at the historian.  "The twenty-fifth," he said.  "The Company of the Ring shall set out from Rivendell on the twenty-fifth of December."

            "Master Elrond has agreed to this?"

            "He will," Gandalf was confident, "Once I have spoken with him."

            The wizard grabbed his hat from the table and placed it upon his head.  "Things must be corrected now, if we wish to see the dawn of another day," and with that, Gandalf went from the room.

            Tolkien peered after the wizard for a time, trying to puzzle over all that Gandalf had said.  After a time of no forthcoming results, he turned back to his work with a shrug and the conclusion that all wizards were queer and Eru only created them for the sheer amusement of baffling mortals.  

*     *     *     *     *

            Arwen passed through the archway without a word.  She made not a sound as she approached though she did not think it would have mattered had she made a terrible ruckus.  Either halfling was asleep, both curled up upon the same bed.  The elfmaiden was pleased to see that the youngest slept contently.  She had been in and out of the room for a near month, tending the wee one and trying to comfort his cousin.

            "Take heart, Meriadoc.  Time is the only cure we have, do not give up so easily."

            He never left his fellow, nor could anyone convince him to do so.  Though Arwen was pleased with this devotion the halflings seemed to have for one another, too did she realize that Merry was not tending to his own needs and was wasting away, almost more so than young Peregrin.  

            "Would you have me worrying over you, Master Brandybuck, whereas my time could be better spent caring for your young cousin."  Even harsh words such as those fazed Merry not at all, for the concept of Self had slowly faded over the weeks that Pippin slipped farther and farther from reach and he no longer cared for ought save his cousin.

            "I do not understand what has happened to him," Merry said softly once when she came to see how either faired.  Often was the occasion that she came and went without a word spoken on the hobbit's part, though she herself talked often to fill the room with life, to banish death.

            "She did a terrible thing," Arwen said and Merry looked at her.  

            "You know what's wrong with him?"

            "I do," and from Merry's reaction she realized he had known so all along, though he had not altogether realized it.

            "Apryl did this," he said softly.

            "She did."  Arwen remembered the child from Before.  Atira had been bursting with life and eager to share it with any who would have her.  But the child did not think with her head but with her heart, a fatal error more often than not.  "Peregrin is dying of a broken heart."

            Merry looked down at his cousin and tears gathered in his clear eyes.  "Oh, how I know it, Lady," he whispered.  "How I know it."

            Arwen left him then but she could not banish the memory, though she wanted to very much, for it pained her.  Elves, however, are gifted with a clear memory and no matter her will she knew she would forever see him wasted upon clean sheets, hear him cry out in the dark.  And there she was sure her memory of him would end, for she knew Peregrin had not long in the world.  But of late, he looked hailer and even his cousin seemed to note such for Arwen was sure she saw a glint of hope in his sky-colored eyes.  She prayed to Eru that the halfling would live and thought that perhaps her prayers had been answered, for Peregrin slept peacefully for the first time in a month.

              Her heart uplifted, Arwen went about to clean the room.  Tomorrow the sheets were due for another change, she decided, and went over to stoke the fire.  Perhaps Elrohir would fetch some wood if she asked, for the fireplace was in sore need of somewhat with winter at hand.  

            Arwen grabbed the water pitcher from the stand beside the bed and walked over to the balcony with it.  Peering over the side to make certain an unwary elf was not below, she poured the clear liquid into some shrubs below and imagined they drank it gratefully.  She walked from the room to fetch a clean pitcher and returned not several moments later.            She hadn't even set the full container down when she realized something was different.  

            Her eyes fell to the bed beside her and the pitcher slipped from nerveless fingers.  __

            From the hallway beyond a young elf lass was busy doing daily chores.  At the sound of the crash she came scurrying and entered the room breathless and with eyes as wide as a dwarf's.

            "Are you alright, milady," the lass gasped, seeing her mistress before her, still, her back towards her.

            "Fetch my father," was all Arwen could manage and the elf child scurried from the room.  

            Arwen could not take her eyes from the bed.  Merry lay upon the left side, not a hand's span from Pippin, whom lay with his back to his cousin.  But it was not to the halflings that Arwen could not pull her gaze away, but to the one whom slept beside Pippin, her hand clasped within his.

*****__


	29. A Day of Miracles

Disclaimer:  Not mine; don't claim.

A/N:  Thanks for your reviews, you guys.  You have to know by know that I really, _really_, appreciate them.

Chapter 29__

A DAY OF MIRACLES

            When she opened her eyes all that filled her vision were green eyes.  Green eyes speckled gold.  She thought she recognized them, was sure she had seen them before but couldn't seem to place them.  They were beautiful though, wide and filled with life, if a bit hazy with weariness.

            "It _is_ you."  The eyes suddenly seemed to laugh.

            Apryl blinked.  "Pip?" she managed weakly.

            "I wasn't sure at first," he said.  "When I first woke up I saw you lying here and didn't know who you were, but then I suspected and now I know I'm right.  It is you, isn't it?"

            The girl looked around, found that she lay in a huge bed in a large airy room and recognized the place instantly.  She sat up.

            "I'm back!"

            Someone laughed at her side and she was suddenly enveloped in a hug.  The warmth that the body radiated was a pleasant counter to the chill she felt she had experienced her whole life.  She returned the embrace eagerly.

            When they finally broke apart, Apryl peered at the hobbit.  There was something different about him, something she couldn't quite place.

            "By the Shire, Apryl," Pippin gasped, looking at her up and down.  "How . . . What happened to you?"

            Apryl frowned.  "What are you talking about?"

            Pippin reached out and grasped her by the hand, guided it to her ear until she lightly brushed the tip.  Apryl's eyes widened.

            _It's not Pippin who's different, _she realized suddenly, _It's me!_

"What's happened to me?" she gasped, touching her face and hair but finding nothing odd about them.  Through her eyes, however, she realized the change and found herself in a very large world.

            When Pippin spoke next, Apryl couldn't tell if his voice held more disbelief, fear, or joy.  "Your . . ." he shook his head, "Your a Hobbit."

            "No," Apryl disagreed as she peered at herself in the full-length mirror, "Not a Hobbit."

            "It wouldn't appear so, would it?" Merry said.  "Your feet look human enough, though smaller."  He stepped forward.  "May I, Lady?"

            Apryl placed a foot into Merry's outstretched hands and regretted doing so almost immediately.  Her balance was horribly crippled.  With a glance at Pippin and a grin on his part, she steadied herself with a hand on his shoulder. 

            Merry touched the soles of her feet and Apryl giggled.  Merry glanced up and smiled.  "Ticklish, milady?" he wondered.

            She frowned.  "No."

            Merry grinned.  "That's alright," he nodded toward his cousin.  "Neither is Pip."  This caused Apryl to grin devishly and peer over at Peregrin.

            "Hoy, now," Pippin protested, "Like you have room to talk, Cousin."

            "I do as a matter of fact," Merry said, putting Apryl's foot down and slowly rising to his full height--which wasn't very full at all.

            "Oh, you do, do you?" Pippin challenged, placing his hands on his hips.  Finding herself between the two, Apryl took several subtle steps backwards.  "This coming from the very hobbit who ran behind Cousin Frodo every time I so much as twitched a finger?"

            Apryl giggled at the mental picture this brought.  _What I would have given, _she sighed.

            "You little twit!" and Merry jumped at his cousin.  With a yelp, Pippin stumbled backwards, tripped and fell with a painful _thud! _on his rump.  Merry was on him in a flash.

            Shrieks of laughter split the air and Apryl watched the two in glee.  She couldn't help laughing right along.  She watched them fondly, wishing above all else that she might join them in their scuffle but terrified that they wouldn't want her to.  So she watched, and decided she was content to do so.

            "Merry, you great oaf, get _off_ me!" Pippin cried, struggling beneath the weight of his cousin.  But Merry was not to be deterred and he remained where he was, straddling his cousin, a gleeful grin upon his hobbitish features.

            Apryl caught Pippin's eye and smiled.  "Having fun?" she mouthed.

            Pippin could only squeak in protest.  The sound cut through her heart and she had to physically restrain herself from leaping upon Pippin's assailant and dragging Merry from atop his cousin.  How she would have managed this Apryl didn't even consider for it was easy to forget she was now smaller than they; the change, for some odd reason, was hard to cope with.

            But just as Apryl could stand it no longer and was about to leap atop them both whether they wanted her to or not, something Apryl had noticed earlier but could not place slammed into her like a brick wall.

            "Pippin!" Apryl fairly cried and Merry halted in mid-tickle to look up in startlement.  The tone in her voice . . . 

            "Pippin, your face," she ran over to him, knelt and peered hard at his features.  She reached out, grasped his hand and turned it over, looked at it desperately.  Merry's eyes suddenly widened as he saw what the girl had.

            "The scars, Pip," Merry exclaimed.  "They're gone!"

            Pippin brought his hand before his eyes and saw that it was so.  Nothing . . . gone . . . his skin was flawless.  He turned his head, peered at his reflection in the mirror.  It was as though it had never happened, the pain had never been.  Even the phantom of its memory was fading from his mind and though he remembered _feeling _the pain and experiencing it he couldn't remember exactly _how_ it felt.

            "A miracle," Merry breathed, staring at his cousin.

            "It is a day of miracles," Pippin returned and glanced at Apryl.  

            She knew what he was thinking and shook her head.  _I do not know who healed you, Pip, but it wasn't me.  _How could it have been?  She did not even remember hurting him, how could she have corrected something she did not remember causing?  But, then, she did not remember finding a way home, nor of how she had accomplished it.  She barely remembered the Dark Lord.  Everything was a hazy blur and she did not like it.

            "Indeed," Merry agreed.  "A Day of Miracles."  He too looked at the Maiar-turned human-turned-hobbit.  

            But then, she wasn't a hobbit and she had never truly been a human and she did not remember being a Maiar.

            "I know what you are both thinking," she said suddenly, breaking the silence.  She got to her feet and went over to the bed.  "And I didn't do it."  She looked over at Pippin, who was struggling to his feet, Merry close behind.  "I do not remember hurting you, Peregrin Took," she did not know why she said his full name.  Perhaps because, admitting that she did this wrong, it didn't give her a right to call him "Pippin" or "Pip".  What kind of person hurts their friend?  "But I know that I did and you know it, too, if I'm not mistaken."

            Pippin nodded.  He knew.  He didn't know how, he just did.

            "Gandalf told me and Frodo," Merry said softly.

            Apryl winced.  _Frodo.  _

            It took a moment before she could collect her thoughts and remember what she had meant to say.  "I hurt you," she said, finally, slowly, "but I did not heal you and I do not know why I am . . ." she glanced down at herself, ". . . like this.  I fell asleep a human and awoke a . . ." she hesitated.  _What am I?  Surely not a hobbit for I do not have the feet and neither do I have the ears.  _They were different somehow.  Pointed, yes, but unlike both seen upon hobbits and elves.  Unlike them and, yet, the same.  They resembled both, actually.

            Merry's eyes widened slightly when she spoke of awaking.  He glanced at Pippin then suddenly realized something he should have already known.

            "But--" he protested.  "You did not _wake_, Lady Apryl."  Apryl looked at Merry, uncomprehending, then sought out the answer in Pippin but found he would not catch her eye.  

            _Of course she wouldn't know? _Pippin mourned.  _How could she?  But I shan't be the one to tell her.  Let Merry, Merry can . . ._

"You died," was as best Merry could explain.

            Apryl blinked.  "Pardon?"

            "Died," he repeated, glancing at Pippin but finding no help in his younger cousin.    "The morning Sam fell into the pool and you dragged him out, you caught pneumonia or some such illness.  You would not heal.  Lord Elrond tried, I was there once even, but nought he tried would take.  Gandalf seemed to know you would not mend and after a time the entire House seemed to realize it.  You died before dawn on the fourth day following Samwise's mishap."

            Apryl looked down at the ground, seemed to try and pry answers from it, and said softly, "I--I couldn't . . . it's not possible."  She looked up.  "I cannot die and be alive at the same time."

            "We burnt your body," Merry said.  He had not gone to see, none of the hobbits had.  They did not burn their dead.  Once, long ago, when their people were new to the world and dangers were still close at hand, they burnt their enemies and buried their heroes.  It was a great evil to burn those you loved.

            "But--but I am not dead," she said desperately, looking to either hobbit.  She looked to Pippin and was horrified that he wept.  "I am _not_ dead," she said again, firmer, as if to command such the Angel of Death would submit to her wishes.  "Why are you crying?" she demanded angrily, feeling tears sting at her own eyes.  She looked at Merry.  "Why is he crying?" but this time it came out as a child might ask her mother why the butterfly dies.  She was suddenly frightened.  She had never seen anyone cry over her before.  She didn't like it.

            Merry could only shake his head.  He turned to his cousin so he might comfort him, tell him everything was alright, even as he had done when they were children and the monsters would come in the night.  

            "Apryl is right, you know," he assured both Pippin and, he hated to admit, himself, "She isn't dead.  She is alive, though Eru knows how."

            Pippin nodded, smiled through his tears.  "I know it," he said.  "That is why I weep.  He has blessed us."

            Apryl thought she had mistaken his words and could only stare at him dumbly.

            "You are an amazing, if a bit mysterious friend," Merry had to agree, regarding her as he had when first they had met.

            "A bit like Gandalf," Pippin commented.

            "Indeed," Merry said thoughtfully.

            "In any case," Pippin said suddenly, "I care not whether you're a hobbit or a human, whether you were dead and are now alive.  I care only that you are here and we might share a laugh again."  He smiled at her.  "I quite enjoy it."

            Apryl still wasn't certain if she was hearing correctly, though her cheeks were suddenly very hot and, she imagined, quite red.

            "I second that," Merry agreed.  "Though, my dear Lady Apryl, I do promise not to make you cry again."  Pippin frowned and looked hard at his cousin. 

            "You made her cry?!" he asked, horrified.

            Apryl smiled and, a tear that had formed earlier when she had spied poor Pippin crying, slipped down her reddened cheek.  Merry sighed gustily.

            "Well," he mourned.  "I shall try at any rate."

            "Indeed you shall," Pippin said severely.  "Otherwise I shall have Gandalf turn you into something unnatural as he nearly did to poor Sam."

            Merry laughed in disbelief.  "I'd like to see that one, Cousin.  Gandalf would sooner turn _you_ into something unnatural.  _I'm _not the one constantly getting into mischief and causing havoc upon whatever and _whom_ever I lay my eyes upon."

            Apryl giggled.  "I'd have to agree with Merry on that one, Pip."

            "Hoy, now," Pippin turned to Apryl in mock hurt, "I was defending you."

            Apryl seemed to consider this.  "Yes, well, I _do _agree with Merry."  She looked at Pippin, her eyes wide with disbelief.  "You wouldn't have me _lie_, would you?"

            The corner of Pippin's mouth twitched.  "Well," he sniffed, fighting the urge to smile.  "I should think I am unloved.  I will return to my bedroom," and with that he turned and left the room.

            Apryl laughed aloud.  "My poor falcon," she cried.  "I did not mean it, come back in here and see how sorry I am!"

            "Pippin, you twit!" Merry said and he laughed.  It was deep and Apryl felt that it was quite pleasant.  "This _is_ your bedroom.  You most certainly do not have _two _of them.  Come back here so that I do not claim it for my own!"

            "So that _you_ might have two?" Pippin appeared at the doorframe, hands upon hips.  "I think not."

            "Come, Pip," Apryl said, "See how sorry I am?"  And she made her eyes wide, perfectly innocent and sorry-like, and stuck her bottom lip slightly out.  Both gentlehobbits burst into fits of laughter.  Apryl grinned, pleased.

            "Well," Merry challenged, calming his fits of giggles, "she might claim such but I do not.  I will not apologize to the likes of _you_."

            "Indeed you never do," Pippin returned seriously.  He grinned devishly not a second later.  "Until I make you."  And he leapt for his cousin.  

            The two scuffled for a time, tumbling about upon the floor and Apryl marveled that no one came running at the ruckus the two hobbits were making.  She suddenly felt sorry for their parents and could almost imagine all the gray hairs the boys had gifted them.  _Boys will be boys_, she thought with a mental sigh and, as her reward for thinking such, was knocked off her feet.  

            She landed on Pippin, or it could have been Merry, she wasn't quite certain which.  Perhaps both.  At first she tried to escape, wriggle free and then run to the bed, but that hope was immediately dashed as Merry latched onto her and would not let go.  She wasn't certain but she thought that she was now his shield.

            Put off at first, Pippin tried to go around her, uncertain that she could handle their rough-housing or would want to.  But as Merry was quite good at maneuvering her so that it was nearly impossible for Pippin to reach him, the younger gentlehobbit was forced to find a knew way.  

            He did.  Pippin found tickling was an excellent tool against Apryl.  Amongst shrieks of laughter and protest, she immediately curled up into a small ball.  This, actually, was useful to both hobbits.  As it got past Merry's guard for Pippin it also caused him to lose complete interest in attacking his cousin.  Tickling Apryl was much more pleasing than hitting his cousin over the head.  Merry, too, found her entertaining.

            Suddenly, a throat was noisily cleared.  

            Immediately, both hobbits ceased their "torture" and glanced toward the noise.  Apryl, too, peeked out from her fetal position amongst the two.

            Lord Elrond, desperately fighting a smile from forming on his features, stood in the doorframe, tall and quite his usual regal self.

            The two hobbits scrambled to their feet, Apryl following clumsily after.  She looked up at the elf . . . and up . . . and up . . . and up.  

            She shrank away from him, moving behind Merry and Pippin.  It was not that she feared the elf, for Apryl knew Lord Elrond would cause her no harm, but he was so _tall_! and this reminded her, with a start, what she had become and what the elf lord might think.  For some reason, she was ashamed.

            Lord Elrond seemed to note her discomfort but said nought of it.  Instead, he looked at Pippin.

            "I see that you are well mended," Elrond said, pleased.

            "Yes," Pippin nodded, "Thank you, Master Elrond."

            The elf smiled warmly.  "The hands of your healer are gentle indeed," and at this he glanced at Apryl.  Pippin gave her a look that seemed to say, "See, I told you" but she was not looking at the halfling.

            "I should hope you would forgive me, my dear gentlehobbits," Lord Elrond said, "But I am afraid I have much to talk of with young Atira."

            It took a moment for either hobbit to recall that "Atira" was Apryl and they looked at her expectantly.

            "Come, my dear," Elrond said kindly and, with a last look at either hobbit (an especially penetrating one towards Pippin), she followed the elf from the room.

            Pippin watched her go and understood all too clearly what that look she had bestowed upon him meant.  "Don't worry, lady," Pippin said to himself, "I failed you once but I shan't to so again.  I promised after all."

*****


	30. Christmas, Come and Gone

Disclaimer:  I am certain you all are quite assured that I do not claim Middle-earth nor any other element of Tolkien's design for my own and you won't try to get me sued.  I thank you for this, and in return I would like you to feel free to read any and all of my fics.  A reasonable settlement, don't you think?

A/N:  Thirty chapters?! And who knows how many pages . . . man, do I not have a life.  Well, I do.  My life _is_ Middle-earth.

Chapter 30

CHRISTMAS, COME AND GONE

            Lord Elrond brought her to her room, where first she had woken in Middle-earth and there she found her jeans and shirt and jacket.  She touched them and felt oddly comforted.

            "They will no longer fit you, I am afraid," Lord Elrond commented and Apryl had to agree with him.  "I am afraid we have no hobbit-sized clothes here," Elrond began, "So I have spoken with several of the women and they have agreed to take your measurements and sew you some dresses.  We cannot have you walking about in a nightshirt, now can we?"

            Apryl smiled.  

            "But," Master Elrond frowned, "In the meantime I am afraid I am at a lose as to what to do.  We have no clothing suitable to one of your stature."

            To Apryl, the answer seemed obvious.

            "Does either Merry or Pippin have extra clothes that I might borrow?" she wondered.  She couldn't force herself to ask if Frodo did.  She did not know him well enough and he . . . she was . . .  

            Apryl glanced at Elrond expectantly.

            "I suppose I might see--"  The elf lord seemed a little put off at this question.  Finally, he asked, "It is common practice for women to wear men's clothing in your land?"

            Apryl could have hit herself.  _Of course he would think it odd!  _But she didn't care.  She wasn't going to be traipsing around the House in nought save her pajamas.  She'd much rather do so in Merry or Pippin's clothes.  

            Apryl stopped and a slow smile spread across her face.  _Merry or Pippin's clothes.  _

            "Very well," Master Elrond continued and Apryl was jerked back to reality.  "I will speak with the hobbits and see if either has ought they might spare.  Give me but a moment and I shall return."  He turned to leave.

            "Lord Elrond," Apryl called and the elf turned.  She hesitated, and then:  "What happened to me?" she asked finally.

            The elf frowned.  "I know not for certain, my dear.  The ways of the Maiar are queer to me and I do not wholly understand them.  I am not the one to ask, but Mithrandir."

            "When will I see him?"

            Lord Elrond seemed to be amidst some inner struggle.  Finally:  "In time."  And then he was gone.

            Apryl considered this for a time, then shrugged.

            _The ways of all are queer.  The only difference is where you stand._

            She grasped her jacket in her hands and looked at it for a time.  _All that I have left of home,_ she thought sadly.  She went through the pockets, pulling many different objects from its depths and spread them upon the clean linen of her bed.

            She picked through the items, musing over each in turn.  At last, she came across a silver necklace that held a silver star.

            Apryl sighed and closed her eyes.  _Morgainne._

Morgainne had given her the gift roughly a year or so ago, to match her own silver necklace and silver moon.

            _Where are you, my friend? _Apryl wondered suddenly.  It felt like she hadn't seen Morgainne in near forever.  _Are you angry with me for walking away?  For not understanding?  But . . . don't you see?  I can't understand, for we had been _friends_.  We never kept anything from each other.  I had trusted you.  I had loved you._

Apryl gripped the necklace in a balled fist until the star's sharp edges pricked at her skin.  Still, she did not release her hold.

            Lord Elrond re-entered the room, then.  Her back was to him but she heard the rustle of his robes.  She released her hold on the necklace, dropped it back upon the pile of knickknacks.  She turned to face him.

            In his arms there was a bundle of small clothing.  He handed them to her.

            "Once you dress, I would have you join me for the evening sup.  Would you be so kind?"

            She nodded her head.  "I'd love to."

            Elrond smiled, pleased.  "Meriadoc and Peregrin will join us.  Do you recall the way to the Hall?"

            "I--I believe so," she fought for a mental picture but could not grasp one.

            Elrond smiled, amused.  "I will have Meriadoc fetch you, for it is on his way and he has been to my Hall many times over the past weeks."

            _Past _weeks_?_

Lord Elrond seemed to note the incredulous look she bestowed upon him and said, "Many things will be explained to you and the others."

            _How long was I . . . dead?  Not too long surely!  _A horrible thought crept into her conscious.  _When was it they left? _Apryl thought desperately.  _December, January?  Oh, curse my forgetful mind!_

"Will the others be joining us?" she wanted to know.

            The elf shook his head.  "None save the halflings, you and I."  He was quiet a moment, and then, "Does that displease you?"

            _Yes, it displeases me! _Apryl wanted to say.  _Why can I never see Frodo?  I have seen him once since I have arrived and that only when Sam and I were freezing to death.  And Morgainne, _she thought._  I would speak with her._

But she said none of this.  Merely:  "No, it does not displease me."  She could tell that he knew she lied, but he said nought of it and, with an assurance that he would send Meriadoc in a short time, he left the room to go about, Apryl was sure, much more important matters.   

            As soon as Lord Elrond was out of sight, Apryl undid the bundle he had handed her and hurriedly adorned the clothing.  It was a fair fit, a little loose but otherwise quite comfortable.  She glanced in the mirror at the far side of the room and giggled.

            _What a hobbit you make, Apryl, _she thought.  Her hair was a delighted mess and she made a face at it.  Running her fingers through the tangled knots she succeeded in smoothing most of it, though without a hairbrush there wasn't much help for it.

            _They have to brush their hair somehow._

She searched the room and eventually came across one in the top drawer in the large cabinet (made larger still by her sudden _lack_ of largeness).

            _How do they do it? _she wondered, looking around and finding everything much too large and daunting.  But at the same time, being as small as she was excited her.  _At least I won't have to look down at the hobbits any more._

"I see they fit."

            Apryl spun around and saw Merry regarding her from the door.  She smiled at him and bade him to come in.  

            "Yes, they fit well.  Are they yours?"

            Merry gestured at shirt.  "That is," he said.  "But the pants are Pippin's."  He grinned.  "I didn't figure a pair of my own would fit too well," and with that he patted his belly.

            Apryl stifled a giggle.  He was probably right.  He was, after all, nearly a full-grown hobbit and it was starting to show in his middle.  Pippin, on the other hand, being as young as he was, wouldn't yet have a hobbit belly for many years to come.

            "Well," Apryl said, "Thank you.  I don't know what I would have done if I was forced to stay in my paj--er, nightshirt all day long."

            "Wouldn't be going out much, I can tell you," he said with a smile and Apryl felt herself blush.  No, indeed, she wouldn't have.  But she had been around either hobbit in her pajamas more often than not.  It was odd, at the time she hadn't felt uncomfortable at all, indeed she hadn't even thought about it.

            "Well," Merry said, "Are you ready, then?  Master Elrond is waiting."

            Apryl nodded and followed Merry from the room and down the halls.  "Where's Pip?" she wondered curiously.

            Merry smiled fondly.  "You know Pip," he said, "takes him near as long as a girl to get ready."  He glanced sideways at her.  "Beg pardon, no offence intended."

            Apryl laughed.  "None taken."  She smiled at him and he returned the look.

            "I like this," Apryl said suddenly.

            "What's that, lady?"

            "Being able to look at you eye-to-eye.  I don't much like looking down at someone."

            Merry smiled and his blue eyes alighted.  "I must agree.  Looking up at one all the time is most tiring."

            "Then we are both pleased?" Apryl asked.

            "Indeed, I believe so."

            The girl smiled, though as they continued onward in silence it slowly faded.  Eventually they entered the Hall and found, to both their amazement, that Pippin was already seated and talking to Lord Elrond.  Both looked at the other in surprise.

            "Come, join us," Elrond said kindly and Apryl found that he sounded different.  More personable.  

            Merry and Apryl hurried towards the table.

            Apryl had gone white.  She lost her hold on the spoon and it clattered upon the plate.  Beside her, Pippin was choking.

            "They're_ gone!?_" Pip sputtered, looking wildly at the elf and then to his cousin.  Merry looked very wretched and miserable and would not catch his cousin's gaze.  Pippin didn't care.  "You let him go?  How could you, cousin?  We had _promised_!"

            Merry glanced up.  "How could I?" he demanded, the misery he had been holding suddenly vented through anger.  "What was I to do, Pippin, leave you alone and go with Frodo myself?  He does not need me, not as you had.  Frodo has Sam, but you had none and neither did I.  I was not going to leave you to die."

            "No," Pippin counter angrily, "But you have no qualms about letting Frodo die?"

            Lord Elrond broke in:  "Gentlemen, please, calm yourselves."

            "Do you think the choice was easy?" Merry demanded, hurt.  "Do you think I made it lightly?  I knew not what to do, Pip!"

            "Yes, and now Cousin Frodo will pay for your error!"

            Merry looked as though he had been struck.  

            "He had counted on us, Merry, and we--"

            Meriadoc's eyes hardened and his jaw set.  "I did a wrong, Peregrin," he gritted, "and I am sorry for it."  He slid from the elvish chair and turned to Elrond.  

            "Forgive me, Master Elrond, but I have suddenly lost my appetite."  And with that, Merry went from the Hall.  Pippin watched his cousin leave but refused to say ought.

            Lord Elrond watched this exchange in concern but neither did he say anything, but turned to the girl as she had said nothing since he had first told her of Frodo's departure. 

            "Lady Atira?" Lord Elrond said gently.  

            "How is this so?"  She looked to him, almost in a dazed manner.  The exchange between Merry and Pippin did not altogether sink in yet.  What the Master had said . . . surely not . . . "I do not understand."

            "The Fellowship of the Ring left my care on the eve of the twenty-fifth, four nights ago.  The Company consisted of Nine--"__

_            Nine!  _Apryl looked over at Pippin.  _How--?  _

"--Gandalf, young Samwise, Aragorn, Boromir of Gondor, Gimli, son of Glóin, Legolas and Morgainne of Mirkwood, and Glorfindel of my House accompanied Frodo on his quest to destroy the One Ring."

            Apryl was certain she would be sick.

            _This isn't how it's supposed to be.  Not like this!_

"Please," Apryl managed.  "I don't feel so good . . ."

            Lord Elrond looked at her in concern.  "What is it, my dear?"  But Apryl would only shake her head.  Elrond waved an elf over.

            "Would you be kind enough to show Lady Atira to her room?"

            The elf nodded.  "Certainly, Lord."

            Pippin regarded Apryl.  "What's the matter?"  She was ill, yes, but it was no common virus but worry and fear that plagued the girl.  Pippin knew this but was uncertain of how he knew.  He looked up at the elf lord.

            "I will take her," Pippin offered.  He looked around him.  "Dinner seems to have been ruined and I am sorry for it."

            Elrond smiled tiredly and waved it aside.  "Do not be sorry, Master Took.  Go, then, and sleep well."  The elf lord knew that there would be no such luck for either hobbits or child this night, nor for many yet to come.

*****


	31. Love, and Understanding

Disclaimer:  LotR does not belong to me, nor does ought else having to do with Middle-earth.  It's J. R. R. Tolkien's.

A/N:  Sorry this took so long to post.  I've completed several other chapters, so I will be posting those shortly.

Chapter 31

LOVE, AND UNDERSTANDING

            "What is it, Apryl?" Pippin wanted to know.  The halls were dark and chill, lit only by the occasional candle.  But Apryl, her head lowered, did not answer."Something's not right.  You know something's not right.  Frodo wasn't suppose to leave, was he?  Apryl?"  Pippin grabbed her by the arm, forcing her to halt.  "Apryl, answer me.  This isn't how it's suppose to be, is it?"

            Apryl looked up at Pippin then, her eyes slowly finding his and there she looked within his grayish-green orbs as though she searched for something.  "Not like this," she said finally, softly.  "It's all wrong, Pip, but . . ." her eyes narrowed, "How do you . . . you've never read . . ."  She shook her head, clearing her thoughts.  

            "I have to think," she said.  "Glorfindel and Morgainne were never meant to go with the Nine.  It's starting to happen already . . ." she broke off and turned away, continued to walk down the dark hallway.  Pippin watched her for a moment, then followed after.

            "What's starting to happen, Apryl?" he called.  

            Apryl did not respond.

            "I don't understand!"

            She turned and looked at him.  The fear was clear in her eyes and Pippin did not mistake it.

            "I do," she told him,  "I understand all too well."

            "Then won't you explain it to me?"

            She shook her head.  "I can't, not now . . . perhaps not ever," she added softly.  Then, drawing herself up, she took a deep breath.  "Come, Pippin, we are going after Frodo."

            Pippin stopped short, stared at her incredulously.  "Beg pardon?"

            "We must.  We--Oh, Pip, you're just going to have to trust me.  I cannot explain it to you but if we do not follow then we may be in more trouble than even Gandalf thought."  She turned and Pippin followed.  

            "How do you plan to do this?" he wanted to know.  "Do you even know where they are going?"

            "Yes."

            "Do you know how to get there?"

            The reply was longer in coming this time.

            "Yes."

            "You really mean to do this?"

            Apryl stopped, forcing Pippin to stop, and looked at him.  "Don't you?" she asked.  "You and Merry meant to go with Frodo, didn't you, to wherever this silly quest might take him?"

            Pippin nodded, "Of course."

            "Well, Frodo's finally managed to slip through your fingers, whether he did it reluctantly or not.  I do not mean for him to do this alone . . ." she looked at him, "and I know you don't either.  You _or_ _Merry_," she said, and Pippin wasn't certain but it seemed that she glared at him.

            He looked away.

            "Will you do this with me?" she asked kindly and slowly he caught her gaze again.  He nodded firmly.

            "Yes."

            "Good," she smiled.  "I shall get some things and--"

            Pippin stopped her.  "I know," he said.

            She smiled at him.  "Then I shall meet you . . . ?"

            "The Hall."

            Apryl looked hesitant.  "What if there are Elves there?"  

            Pippin shook his head.  "There won't be."

            "How do you know?"

            "Haven't you noticed?" Pippin asked.  "Aside to sleep, the elves are never indoors at night."

            "No," Apryl murmured, "I hadn't."  But she suddenly knew why.  _The stars.  _"The Hall, then," Apryl agreed.  "Half-hour."  Pippin nodded and they both parted, Apryl to find her room and Pippin to find a certain hobbit who he had wounded--a poisoned dart close to the heart.

            Pippin found Merry upon the lawn beyond the first rise leading from the House.  He had spied him from the balcony leading off his bedroom and had come to him not five minutes later.  Once upon his cousin however, he was hesitant, uncomfortable, and not at all certain how to approach him.  Apologizing had always been a difficult thing for Pippin.

            "You needn't have such a sharp tongue," Merry said without turning around, causing Pippin to start and wonder at his cousin's ability to hear him draw near.  Reluctantly, Pippin joined Merry upon the grass.

            "Nor such a hot head," he tried meekly.  He followed Merry's example and peered up at the glittering stars above.

            "Nay," Merry agreed softly, "Nor one of those."  The hobbit's chest heaved and he looked over at his younger cousin.  "You must understand, Pip, that I did not know what else to do.  Cousin Frodo stood before that council of Elves and Men and Dwarves and took it upon himself to destroy Lord Sauron's ring."

            Pippin shuddered.  _The One._

"You were unwell and I could not bring myself to leave you when Frodo had Sam.  And you know Sam.  Nothing will happen to Cousin Frodo if Sam has a say in the matter.  Besides, Frodo is not alone, Pippin.  Gandalf is with him, and Strider.  They'll look after him.  Better than we ever could."

            Pippin shook his head.  "Yes, Merry, but Frodo is _out there_," he pointed beyond the trees and rolling hills, perhaps even beyond the mountains--Merry wasn't sure.  "He _is _alone.  Poor Sam is all he has.  He is among the Big Folk, Merry, and though they are strong and brave they are not hobbits.  They are not family, nor friends, nor do they love him like you and I."  Pippin sighed and ran his fingers through his curls.  "Big Folk will sure aid Cousin Frodo and I have not the slightest doubt that they would do Frodo better good against orcs and those Black Riders then we ever would, but--but I do not think protection is all our dear Frodo needs on this quest.  He needs _love_, and understanding.  We can give him that, Merry, you and I."

            Merry was silent.  "Yes," he spoke finally, "we could have.  Perhaps in a different time when you did not fall ill and I did not choose to remain with you.  But I _cannot_ change the past, Pip, and I am sorry for it!"  He turned to his cousin, looked at Pippin desperately, angrily.  "I am sorry Cousin Frodo is burdened and I chose not to aid him and I am sorry that you are angry at me for it!  I am sorry, all right?  That is what you wanted to hear.  Now, let me be, Pip.  Go, now, let me be!"  Tears rolled down his cheeks and Merry was more than angry at himself for allowing this weakness to show, especially with his younger cousin near.  It was the first time Merry had cried in front of Pip and he swore on the Shire it would be the last. 

            He got to his feet so fast that he almost ended back on the ground.  Wildly catching himself, he stumbled down the hill.

            "Merry, wait!" he heard, but he did not stop.  "You misunderstand me, Cousin," Pippin called and Merry knew his cousin followed.  He would not escape Pippin, this he knew.  Running his sleeve across his eyes, Meriadoc turned to face Peregrin who was running down the hill with much the same grace Merry had.  Reaching his cousin, Pippin grasped Merry by the hand.  

            The hobbit jerked his hand away.  "Merry, would you listen to me," Pippin demanded, frustrated.  "I am not angry with you.  I understand what you did and I am sorry that I was upset with you earlier.  But I still hold true to what I said--Cousin Frodo should not be alone.  We've decided, Apryl and I, that we are going after him," he smiled then, such a grin that Pippin often shared to those lucky enough to be near, "and you are coming with us."__

            She had nothing.  A pocketful of junk, that was about it.  _But it's _my_ pocketful of junk,_ she decided, _and it's all I have left of Earth.  _The objects lay scattered upon the bed where she had left them, her coat and clothing near.  She scooped the discarded items into her hands and dumped them unceremoniously into her pocket.

            Apryl grinned.  _Pippin's pocket._

That done, and with ought else she had (and with a last mournful glance at her jacket), Apryl departed from her room and made to find the Hall.  She had made the journey several times but Apryl had a horrible sense of direction and knew at once she was in trouble.

            _Do I go left here, or right?  Where did this fork come from?  I remember no fork.  Do I turn here or continue on straight?  _Apryl gave a ragged sigh of frustration.  Nothing looked familiar!__

_            Apryl, you idiot, you should have gone with Pippin!_  But she knew she couldn't have, for the two were at odds and needed their time.  Besides, Apryl did not want to have to hike hundreds of miles with those two at each other's throats.  She'd never read about either them fighting with each other and she didn't want to experience it first-hand.  It scared her, to be honest.

            Apryl came upon another fork.  However, this time she had a flash of recognition and smiled in delight.  _I remember now!_  Turning to the left, she followed the darkened hallway for several yards, passing doorways to either side and stopping at each doorframe to peer within, fearful one of the elves might spy her and demand to know why she was about.  However, all were unlighted and unoccupied, empty, deserted and altogether dark.  Apryl passed them by quickly, until she came to the last one and was startled to find a candle burning away at the shadows.

            Apryl peered around the corner, certain an angry elf would be glaring down at her, but found there was none within.  A single candle glowed upon a desk in the center of the room and Apryl wondered at this.

            _Someone must be close, _she decided and was just about to hurry on when something caught her eye.

            _It--it couldn't be . . . _It most certainly looked to be what she thought it to be.  But how did it end up _here_?  In Middle-earth at Rivendell?  Her curiosity got the better of her, like it often did, and Apryl found her feet taking her within.  She reached the desk in no time, with hardly a sound made and she saw that it was indeed _The Lord of the Rings_.  Not only that, but it was _her The Lord of the Rings_, the one she kept upon her desk at home_.  _She could tell by the frayed edges and crippled spine, not to mention the hundreds of leaflets within the novel with her handwriting scrawled upon them.__

She picked it up.  _How . . . ?_  But then:

            _"Do you know how to get there?"  _Pippin's words came back to her, followed by her hesitant, _"Yes."_

Apryl flipped open to the back of the book, located the maps and . . . 

            _They are rough, _she knew, _probably impossible to follow . . . but they are better than nothing.  I do not wish to travel blindly.  This should aid us somewhat._

_            Is it worth the risk, though?  _Apryl knew what could happen if it got into the wrong hands--Sauron's, Saruman's.  But then, she also knew what could happen if it got into foolish hands.  _The elves are not fools, I know, but do I trust them with the world?  Do I trust myself?_

She peered down at the book, heavy, burdensome, not unlike the Ring.

            _It would be safe here in Rivendell, far from enemy hands.  But the elves . . . why do they have it?  And why is it here, in the open, upon a lighted desk?_

_            It could aid us._

_            It is not worth the risk._

_            I cannot leave it behind._

            Not letting her mind take it any further, Apryl slipped the book beneath her arm and hurried from the room.

Apryl found the Hall with little trouble after that, but she was almost certain that a half-hour was well over when she arrived.  Merry and Pippin were already there and either of them wore their cloaks and their packs.  Merry was squatted on the floor near the fire, warming his hands in its dying flame, his hood cast over his head.  Pippin was near, pacing the floor, looking up from time to time and mumbling beneath his breath.

            He spied her as she entered, sighed in relief and was running over to her before she had taken two steps.  "There you are," he hissed in the dark, and Merry looked up.  Seeing her, a smile came to his eyes, and he joined them near the entrance.  "We were afraid you'd changed your mind."

            "What's that?" Merry asked, spying the book beneath her arm.

            "It has a map in the back," she said uncomfortably.  "I thought it would help.  It's rough and I'm not certain how accurate but--"

            Merry nodded.  "Better than nothing."

            "Yes," she nodded, "That's what I thought."  

            "Are we ready, then?" Pippin asked.

            "I haven't got anything," Apryl said in shame.  "I didn't know where to find any food, nor do I have a pack or cloak.  I didn't--"  Merry was smiling at her.  Pippin looked very smug.  "What?" she demanded.

            Merry went over to one of the chairs and lifted from its dark depths a pack and a small dark bundle. "We figured as much," he told her.  "Pippin snuck into Bilbo's room and found he still had his old pack.  It's worn," he said apologetically, handing it to her.  "But it should do rather well."

            "I also found you a cloak," Pippin said.  "It was in a chest at the foot of Bilbo's bed."  He took the bundle from Merry and helped Apryl slip it on.

            Strapping the pack on so that it was secure, the three looked at one another.              

"Well?" Apryl said finally.  "Are we ready?"

            Merry nodded.

            "I don't suppose this is going to be a typical jolly outing?" Pippin asked with little hope.

            "I shouldn't think so," Merry said softly.  Apryl watched them both.

            "I rather miss them," Pippin commented.

            Merry nodded but said nothing.

            "Well," Pip sighed, "I suppose we'd best leave before we're spotted."  

            "I feel rather awful," Merry murmured, as they filed from the House.  

            Pippin nodded.  "Like when we snuck out to pinch mushrooms.  Perhaps we ought tell them . . ."

            Apryl shook her head but in the dark none saw. 

            "I mean," Pippin continued.  "It's not like they could force us to stay."

            _They could if they knew what we meant to do_, Apryl thought, glancing over her shoulder at the sleeping House.  _Perhaps what we're doing _is _wrong but I don't think I can take the risk.  If Merry and Pippin are not reunited with the Fellowship, who knows what may come of it._

            "Let us hurry on," Apryl said softly.  "The less they know the better," and the trees bent to hide their escape, knowing better than ought else what would happen should these little ones fail in finding the Nine.

*****


	32. For Love of Mushrooms

Disclaimer:     Middle-earth is Tolkien's.  Elrond is Tolkien's.  Gandalf is Tolkien's.  The elves are Tolkien's.  The orcs (thank God!) are Tolkien's.  Merry is Tolkien's.  Pippin is Tolkien's.  Frodo is Tolkien's.  Rivendell is Tolkien's.  Crickhollow is Tolkien's.  The Shire is Tolkien's.  The mushrooms from the Shire are Tolkien's.

            Apryl, however, is mine.  Corryn is mine.  The hot cocoa and marshmallows are also mine.

A/N:    Sorry this is taking so long.  I had several chapters done a while ago but I trashed them cause they weren't any good.  Sorry.

Chapter 32

FOR LOVE OF MUSHROOMS

            As night slowly faded to dawn, Apryl recalled something--travel only at night, lest unwanted eyes should be about.  She could not remember who gave this advice though she thought it might have been intended for the Fellowship; perhaps Lord Elrond had said it, or Gandalf even.  In any case, she thought it wise and called it to the attention of her two companions and they agreed readily, for they were weary and had gone far that night.

            Merry fairly collapsed to the ground as Pippin heaved his pack from tired shoulders.  Neither removed their cloaks, for winter was nigh and the world was cold.  If anything, the hobbits wished for more outer garments, their thin clothes not at all up to the challenge of keeping the chill at bay.  Apryl had spent near the latter part of the night forcing her teeth to cease their constant chattering, all the while dreaming of a hot cocoa and marshmallows. 

            "Couldn't we start a fire?" Pippin suddenly asked, glancing first to Merry and then to Apryl.  Uncontrollable shivers were wracking his slight frame and he was doing all and more to try and still them.  "It needn't be a large one," he assured his cousin, who looked doubtful, "just so that we might warm up a bit.  Maybe eat something hot."  As if in response to this question, Pippin's stomach growled pathetically.  Apryl's answered in turn.  Both looked at Merry, their eyes wide and pleading.  Apryl didn't think she'd ever been this cold.

            _Not true, Apryl, _the girl reminded herself, recalling several winters past when the family had gone to the mountains to sled.  She had trekked across a supposedly sturdy sheet of ice but found, too late, that it would not support her weight and she found herself knee-deep in freezing water.  It was quite a hike back to the van and by the time she got there her feet were numb, her body frozen, and her mind in pain.

            Her chattering lips upturned into an embarrassed smile.  If she thought back to that miserable day, her body seemed to warm all its very own now.

            _Besides, _she thought, looking over to her companions, _I have friends now._  _What is that old saying?  "Misery enjoys company."  _She grinned.  _And misery certainly enjoys the company of hobbits._

            "Always thinking of your stomach, Pip?" Merry was saying and he managed a slight smile.  But he sighed, then, and looked at both of them apologetically.  "Best not."

            Apryl blinked.  "Best not what?" she asked, sorry she had spaced.

            Pip sighed, pulled his cloak tighter around her and sat back against their small outcropping of rock.  "Build a fire."

            Merry looked truly sorry.  "As much as I want warmth, I'd sooner be cold than face an orc or something just as nasty."

            Apryl's eyes widened in alarm and she glanced about her nervously.  The idea of orcs and goblins . . . . She'd never really thought about it and suddenly it became such a horrifying reality.  She couldn't even imagine what they looked like . . . well, she could but to see one, to talk of one and know they were out there somewhere, in the very world in which she was, frightened her more than she thought anything could. 

            She looked over at Merry and Pippin, only to find neither one all that concerned.  As much as she wanted it to, it did nought to reassure her and she found herself continuously glancing over her shoulder.  Not until she spied the rays of the rising sun was her heart lightened.  Slowly, her fear fled as dawn took hold of the land and her breathing eased.

            She laughed at herself for being a cowardly fool, for orcs do not travel in the light of the day and even if they had she still would not have feared.  The sun often banishes nighttime's fears.

            Apryl smiled and glanced over at Pippin, only to find him rummaging through his pack and mumbling to himself.  She spied Merry nearly asleep sitting up, for he was blinking his eyes rapidly, trying vainly to keep his them open.

            "Eat before sleep," Pippin commented absently, seeing Merry, who in turn made a face at his cousin.  Paying him no mind, Pippin continued to look about in his bag until he gave a cry and produced a smaller knapsack.  "Here we are!" he said, pleased with himself, causing Merry to jerk and look about.

            "What have you got there, Pip?" Merry demanded, somewhat irritated but more than a little curious.

            "What else?" Pippin grinned.  "Mushrooms!"

            Merry was wide-awake.  "Honest?" he gasped.  Pippin merely smiled.  "Oh, Pip!" he cried, grasping a handful of Pippin's clothing and dragging the younger hobbit over so that he might hug him.  "Your well and good the best cousin I know, Peregrin Took!"  Merry kissed him on the forehead.

            "Get off, Merry," Pippin laughed, trying to fend his cousin off with one hand, while at the same time clutching the sack of mushrooms with the other.  "Get off.  I know it, I know it!  Get off, I say!"

            Apryl laughed aloud.  "Hobbits and their love of mushrooms," she giggled.  "I'd give him the mushrooms, Pip, if I were you," she advised, "otherwise I fear you'll never get him dislodged."

            "Alright, alright!" Pippin cried, "Off with you, Merry, if you wish to have some."  It was easy after that, for indeed Merry's love of mushrooms seemed greater than his love of Pippin.  

            As it turned out, Pippin had had the stash since they left Crickhollow, munching on them from time to time but for the most part saving them for a most desperate time.

            "And we certainly are desperate," Merry said between mouthfuls.  "Bless your soul, Pip, for thinking ahead!"  Pippin was too busy eating to pay his cousin mind.  

            "Aren't you hungry, Apryl?" Merry wondered, not a moment later seeing that she hadn't touched a single one.

            "I've never been too fond of mushrooms," she explained, looking at the pile dubiously.

            Merry stopped in mid-bite; Pippin choked.

            "Not fond of mushrooms?" Merry gasped, incredulous.

            "What hobbit doesn't like mushrooms?" Pippin managed.

            Apryl smiled at them; for they seemed truly horrified and it was . . . well, cute.  "But I'm not a hobbit, remember," she told them.

            "Well, no, but . . ." Pippin tried.

            "Truly," Merry asked, almost in a hurt manner, "You don't like mushrooms?"

            "Sorry," she said, "Not since I was little."

            "They were mushrooms from your time, then?  Your world?" Merry asked.

            Apryl nodded.

            "Perhaps you'll like these mushrooms," Pippin suggested, "They are from the Shire after all."

            Apryl stopped.  "From the Shire?"

            Both hobbits nodded.

            Apryl looked down at the three that were in her lap.  They were large mushrooms, their crowns were larger than her palm, but then she was hobbit-sized and everything appeared larger than it used to be.  Delicately, she picked one up, as if afraid she would break it.  She stared at it.  "The Shire?"

            Merry and Pippin looked at one another, curious, but neither said ought.  Finally, Apryl looked up at the two and caught their gaze.

            "Would you guys do me a favor?" she asked, the mushroom still within her palm.

            "What is it?" Pippin asked, though Merry nodded.

            Apryl smiled a quiet smile.  "After all this is through and you and Frodo and Sam return home, can I . . . can I go with you?"  Pippin's eyes widened, and Merry smiled.  "I have heard so much about the Shire," she told them, "And I would like to go there someday."

            "Of cour--" Merry began, but Pippin cut him off.

            "Only if you do me a favor in return," Pippin said, and Apryl caught a glint in his eye.  She looked at him hard for a moment, and then:

            "What?" she asked cautiously.

            Pippin pointed at the mushrooms in her lap.  "Eat."

*****

I'm having review withdrawals from the last several chapters.  Review, please?  I'd love you forever!


	33. Three is Company

Disclaimer:  Aside from the usual "Middle-earth is not mine and neither our any of its characters.  They belong to Tolkien" I would like to point out that I do not claim the title of this chapter.  Tolkien used it first and I'm sure you all know that.  I used it only because it fit this chapter well.  Sorry if this offends anyone.

Chapter 33

THREE IS COMPANY

            Though the day dawned bright, almost instantly the clouds took over and it was once again dismal and gray, though Apryl was well beyond the physical world to take any notice.  Pippin, too, was far gone, though the cold kept bringing him back to reality and no matter how far he snuggled within his blanket, he could not long banish the chill. 

            Merry glanced around nervously.  The Sun was hidden well behind bleak clouds and though night had fled, still he wished she would show her face.  It looked as if it'd rain and Merry didn't think that was at all good.  They had left the House ill prepared and Merry had realized such when they left.  But his mind had been preoccupied with other things--like how they would ever find their dear cousin when this land was so terribly _big_!  

            _Everything outside the Shire is unnaturally large, _Merry thought in distaste.  The people, the trees . . . everything.  _Very unnatural, _he thought, eyeing the clouds distrustfully, as if he thought Eru himself had created the land out of proportion merely to entertain himself.

            The idea brought his thoughts to Apryl and he glanced over at the sleeping girl.  She was curled up in a small ball, her cloak wrapped tightly about her.  _Not a hobbit, _Merry knew, _nor a human, I'd wager.  Something else . . . . Quite peculiar._

Merry honestly didn't know what to make of her.  She was quite different from any lass he had ever known.  In the Shire it was improper for the womenfolk to romp around with the boys and so consequently Merry had never really known any.  When he was younger, roughly thirteen, he had made friends with one of his father's cousin's servant's daughter.  His uncle had visited Brandy Hall for a month and brought several of his household--that was when Merry met May.

            All the other lads had made terrible fun, for befriending a girl, and one of such a lowly name, too, was not right and proper for a Brandybuck lad, especially the Master's son.  He cared not though, for she had been quite the mischievous companion.  Never had Merry known how easy it was to pinch mushrooms, or sneak out in the dead of night and swim in the Brandywine.  She had never joined him of course, for she feared water as all living hobbits do, though he couldn't recall how many times he urged her to jump in.  She would go knee-deep but no farther and after a time he didn't push the issue.  Oh, what fun they had had and, unlike some of Merry's other friends, she had been most tolerant of their little tag-a-long and indeed had often let Pip join in their fun.  

            Merry missed her terribly sometimes.  All through the summer days it was one adventure after another and Merry hadn't known such happiness before, nor did he after. Then she had gone.  With a promise his playmate would return the following summer, Merry was content to see her go, his eyes alighting in laughter when (the adults weren't looking) she tossed him a mushroom swiped from the night before.  She winked, then ran to her father and they were gone.

            Three months later, word came to Brandy hall that Uncle Seredic's manservant's daughter had drowned in Thistle Brook.  No one would tell him how and he never asked, for deep within his heart he knew.

            _"Come along, May, you're not afraid, certainly?"_

_            "Of course I am, and you would be too had you any sense."_

Frodo had visited several days later, when word reached Hobbiton, for he had met May and told his younger cousin's and their newfound friend many tales of dwarves and dragons.  May had been especially fond of them. 

            Merry was glad for the arrival of his cousin, for Frodo understood what he was going through and though Pippin had been close to May as well, he had been but a lad of five and he did not understand. 

            Merry smiled softly.  Frodo had always been there for him, ever since before he could remember.  

            A chill wind picked up, causing his cloak to flap about.  Hurriedly, he drew it about him and his eyes dimmed.  _Where are you now, cousin?  What are these fair Elves thinking, in laying this Burden upon your shoulders, small even by hobbit standard?  I do not understand the ways of the Big Folk, nor do I wish to._

He glanced over to Pippin, who moaned in protest, for the wind whipped about him and nipped irritatingly at his nose and cheeks.  He rolled to his stomach and buried his face within his cloak, completely hiding all features save his hairy feet, which poked from beneath the wind-blown fabric.

            _Pippin understands them less than I, _Merry told Frodo, wishing with all his heart that his cousin could hear him.  _He is so very naive.  I fear he does not understand what we're getting into.  _I _do not even understand what we're getting ourselves into, though we are not totally without hope.  Apryl seems to understand this quest better than any of us.  Perhaps as well as Gandalf, though in a different way._

Unintentionally, Merry yawned.  He chided himself mentally, for he was on watch and could not disappoint his friends by falling asleep.  It did not fully occur to the hobbit that falling asleep could bring greater consequences than getting ridiculed for his carelessness.  Though he had warned his companions earlier against building a fire, orcs and goblin-men were the farthest thing from his mind.  They were too close to Rivendell and Merry knew, from listening to the Big Folk talk, that no orc would dare travel within days of the Last Homely House.  

            No, orcs did not concern Merry, but the opposite.  Elves are what concerned the hobbit.

            "They will not be pleased," Merry was almost certain and he shook his head in shame.  "I do feel awful, though."

            "Why, Merry?"

            Meriadoc jumped, glanced wildly about until his eyes fell to Apryl, who still lay as she had, only now her grey eyes were open.

            Merry breathed out a sigh.  "I thought you asleep," he said.

            She shook her head, found it rather difficult in the position she lay in, then just said "no."  But the word did not go past her lips and she only mouthed it.  "Too cold," she said, her voice coming this time.

            Merry nodded in understanding.

            "If you like," she said, still without moving, "I'll take watch now.  I have slept a little but I doubt I'll find my dreams again."  She shifted then, making as if to sit up, but at the last she changed her mind and remained huddled beneath her cloak and sleeping bag.  "I find sleeping dull without dreams."

            Merry chuckled.  "You are an odd one, Apryl."

            Apryl merely smiled.  "You know what, Merry," she said suddenly.  

            "What?" Merry prompted.

            "I am glad I am here--with you and Pippin."

            Merry smiled and flushed slightly.  "As I said, you are an odd one."

            "Why?" Apryl wondered, sitting up so that she might better look at him, "because I enjoy your company?"

            "Because you seem to thrive off this dismal land," he said glancing about him rather disconcertedly.

            Apryl laughed.  "Oh, Merry, should you see dismal, come with me to my land.  There you shall find a very lonely world, for in comparison Middle-earth is lush."  Suddenly Apryl stopped, and then giggled to herself.  _I'm even beginning to sound like a hobbit.  How marvelous!  _"It's not just the land, though," she explained, "but the people.  The _feel_ of the place.  Everything's different."

            Merry shook his head sadly.  "I could not imagine your world Apryl," he said, "If it is darker than our own, for we are in the midst of very a dark time."

            Apryl peered at Merry curiously.  "I thought hobbits were ignorant to the ways of the Outside."  She had meant to say it only to herself and did not realize she spoke aloud until Merry answered her.

            "We are," he told her, his crisp, sky-colored eyes gazing into her storm-hued ones.  "I was.  Until I spied on Gandalf, that is," he admitted sheepishly, "Or rather, Pippin and I had Sam spy on Frodo and Gandalf.  We, all of us, found out many things and I learned more once I arrived at Rivendell, for if one has a mind they will find the tongues of the elves terribly loose."  He grinned impishly.

            Apryl just looked at him, suddenly the skeptic.  "I doubt that, Meriadoc."

            Merry looked offended.  "I said if one has a mind.  Not many do."

            "What did you learn whilst you 'had a mind' to listen to the elves?" Apryl asked.

            "A lot," Merry admitted.  "Mostly it concerned the Ring."  The hobbit looked at Apryl and suddenly all earlier mirth vanished and his face was etched in concern.  "Cousin Frodo has a terrible burden . . ."  He closed his eyes, and sighed.  

            A still silence passed between the two for several moments as either had thoughts that they could not bring themselves to share.  Finally, Apryl scooted closer to Merry and reached out and grasped Merry's hand with her own.  Blinking in startlement, the hobbit looked at her and she smiled kindly.  "Everything will turn out fine in the end," she assured him.  _At least everything's suppose to.  _But then Apryl remembered Frodo and a slight pang came to her heart.  _Sort of._

"I just wish I knew where the end was?" Merry said softly, patting her hand, for he found comfort in it.  "It seems like this journey has been going on for far too long, and now I fear it shall never end."

            Apryl gave the hobbit a sympathetic smile.  "It will end, Merry," she promised, "for all things do."

            "Yes," he nodded, "But for good or ill?"

            Apryl shut her eyes tightly, as if she wished to blot something out, but when she opened them there he lay, contently beyond the wind's touch:  Pippin.  Apryl shivered.

            "I don't know," she admitted finally, for she didn't.

            Merry was suddenly rubbing her hands.  "Your cold," he said.

            "So are you," she pointed out, for his own hands did little good against hers.

            "So am I," came a muffled voice and both Apryl and Merry looked to the lump before them.  It shifted and out popped a disheveled head of curls, accompanied by rosy cheeks and a sniffling nose.

            "This will never do," Merry said, disapprovingly.

            "It most certainly won't," Pippin agreed.  "Time for a fire," he declared cheerfully.

            Merry scowled, though Apryl managed a weak grin.  "That is not what I meant, Cousin.  I am on watch, yet here we all are awake.  How do you suppose we are to find Frodo if we are all bone weary from lack of sleep?"

            "And how do you, cousin of mine," Pippin returned, and Apryl instantly recognized the haughty tone, for she had heard it more often than naught, "propose we sleep when it is so blasted cold?  Warmth _is _the issue.  A fire, I say!"

            Against his will, a smile spread across his face, and Merry could merely shake his head at Pip's defiant behavior.  "Tell me, Pip, what did you and I do on those nights we camped out upon the Brandywine and we forgot to bring a flint and tinder?"

            It took a moment before Apryl saw the light dawn on Pip's face and as soon as she did she knew she was in trouble.  She was right, of course, for Pip bounded up from his spot across from them and fairly launched himself at Merry and, consequently (because they had been sitting so close, her and Merry), Apryl.  All three of them went down in a heap. 

            Before Apryl could tell what was what, she found herself between either hobbit, their cloaks and hers wrapped securely around all of them, plus with an addition sleeping bag or two to spare.

            "Why didn't we think of this before?" Pip demanded of his cousin.  Not two seconds had gone by and Apryl could already feel the heat radiating off his slight frame.  

            Suddenly, she wrapped her arms around his middle and snuggled close.  "I thought you said you were cold, Pip?" she asked, not noting or caring the incredulous look he bestowed upon her.  "Your like a furnace!"

            "And your as cold as snow," Pippin cried, touching her hands and wondering how she could stand it.  Apryl only smiled, trying her hardest not to touch her hands to his for she knew them to be cold.  Corryn used to say she was cold-blooded and Apryl wouldn't have doubted it.  She took after her mom in that respect.

            "Here," Merry said, taking her left hand within his two he began to rub.  Seeing this, Pippin took her right and proceeded to rub the life back into it as his cousin was doing to her other hand.  Apryl looked from one to the other, her cheeks flushing and it wasn't from the cold.  

            _Well, this is awkward, _she thought, too embarrassed to say or do anything.  Her hands warmed up fast enough though and when the hobbits saw this, they both looked at her.

            "There now," Merry said.  "Better?"

            Apryl knew her face was red.  She could just imagine how bright a pink her ears must have turned.  "Y-yes," she said, stuttering.  Her voice dropped to a whisper.  "Thank you."  She then brought her knees up to her chin and buried her face in them, letting her long hair hide her features.  She thought wistfully of her jackets secretive depths were none could judge her and she missed it dearly.

            Pippin watched her curiously, then looked at his cousin for an explanation.  Merry could only shrug.  Looking at her in a quiet manner, Pippin moved to the other side of Merry, where he leaned against his cousin.  Merry put an arm around Pip, then glanced at Apryl.

            "Goodnight, Apryl," he said, half in a hopeful manner.  He was doomed to disappointment however, for she mumbled a quiet "goodnight" and that was all.  Merry sighed.

            _She is an odd one . . . ._

Pippin fell asleep a little while later, for his breath came deep and Merry was pleased that his skin was warm, though his breath came out in a white mist, as did his own.  It was some time later that he saw Apryl's arm fall, slipping from beneath the blanket to be exposed to the bitter wind.  Merry whispered her name but, as she did not respond, knew she was asleep.

            Reaching around her, he brought her arm back within the safety and warmth of the blankets.  Then, with but a moments hesitation, he pulled her close so that she might lean against him. 

            Apryl sighed, mumbled something incoherent, then lay still.  Her breath came even and, Merry noted with a mixture of wonder and amusement, matched Pippin's exactly.

            Apryl watched the fiery orb descend beyond sight, her head resting comfortably against Merry's shoulder.  She figured it was about time to wake the two, though it seemed she had just taken over Pip's watch.  

            She lifted her head to look at the hobbits:  Pippin's head had fallen from Merry's shoulder to rest on his cousin's lap and Merry leaned contently against her, even as she rested against him.  

            _I'll let them rest for a few more minutes, _she decided, leaning her head against Merry again.

*****


	34. Elves, Threats, and Promises Anew

Disclaimer:  Not mine.  It's Tolkien's.

A/N:  Sorry this took so long to post.  I haven't gotten very many reviews lately and I'm not sure if its because you're getting bored with this story or if its because I'm taking so long to post and you all have given up on me.  In any case, I'm sorry and I'd still like to hear your input and I intend to write more whether I get reviews on this or not, because _I'm_ having fun writing it.  Hope you enjoy.

BTW:  I do intend for Frodo to get involved again.  Do you think I should continue from Apryl and/or Pippin's POV as I have been or switch over to Frodo or Morgainne's (or someone else currently in the Fellowship) POV.  Let me know?

Chapter 34

ELVES, THREATS, AND PROMISES ANEW

            Apryl started awake with a jerk.  

            Beside her, Merry shifted and mumbled, then settled back into faraway dreams, his quiet snores coming easily, and they were a comfort to Apryl's ears.  She glanced at him, eyes bleary with sleep, but he rested easily and made not a sound.

            _What--?_

Then she looked to Pippin, and spied that he too slept sounded . . . and she herself had just awoke.

            _Dear God,_ she looked around and found that night had descended.  She could barely see ought around her.  _What time is it?  _She struggled to her feet, realizing in a panic that she had fallen asleep on watch.

            "Merry," she shook him and he groaned, cracked his lids and peered at her sleepily.  "Merry, wake up."  

            "What is it, Apryl?" he mumbled.  

            "I fell asleep, Merry," she replied miserably.  "I'm so sorry."

            At first, Merry couldn't see the problem.  So what if she had fallen asleep?  It was night after all.  But then the past days events slammed into him and the drowsiness fled him in an instant.  

            "What time is it?" he asked, shoving the covers from him.  

            "Well past night fall," she said softly.  Apryl looked to east and saw the sky was a shade lighter there than in the west.  "Near dawn."

            Merry cursed beneath his breath, shook Pippin who, oddly enough, started awake almost instantly.  "I'm sorry--" he burst out in panic, "I didn't mean to--please!"  

            "Calm down, Pip," Merry said easily, "Calm down.  It's only a dream, nothing else."

            The haze left the younger hobbit's eyes and he suddenly seemed to see Merry.  "Merry?" he said, hesitantly.  "I thought . . . where is--?"  But then his gaze fell to Apryl's and the worry and sorrow faded from his features.

            "Come on, Pip," Merry said, turning to gather their meager supplies.  "We've overslept."

            Pippin looked at Apryl and spied her reddened cheeks.  He might have suspected the cold but as she would not catch his gaze he knew otherwise.  Wearily, he stumbled to his feet.

            Much the following night preceded as the first, though talk grew fewer, for minds became weary and less energy spent was always the better.  They continued on well into morning and only rested at noon of that day.

            Apryl spoke very little to either hobbit but spent much of her time looking over maps or reading passages from _The Lord of the Rings_ for hints as to the way they might take.  Merry was rather curious about the book and asked her once where she had gotten it.  She told him from Lord Elrond and her tone was so clipped that Merry spoke no more of it.  Pippin said nothing of the book, for they interested him not at all.  He thought them a waste of time and when he mentioned this to Merry, Apryl laughed until tears came to her eyes.  She shook her head.

            "If you only knew, Pippin," she giggled.  "If you only knew."  Either hobbit could only look at the other and shrug helplessly.  Apryl smiled at them and went back to her book, wondering curiously way the novel still intrigued her when the real thing stood right before her.  She could only surmise that it was out of need.  She needed this book to help her locate the Fellowship and without it her and her companions were as good as doomed.              It had not been that long since leaving the House of Elrond and yet the days and nights were already blurring together.  Apryl often found herself flipping to the timeline in the back of the book to determine where they should be.  

            She knew that it had taken the Fellowship near a fortnight to reach the borders of Hollin--but that information did Apryl little good if neither she nor the hobbits knew what this place looked like.  The land was so different from her own Earth.  When you entered a town or city in her own world you knew it to be such by the signs on the road.  As for the hobbits, they knew no lands beyond the Shire.  

            Apryl sighed in frustration.  If her calculations were correct (which she wasn't too confident they were) her and the hobbits were only two days behind the Fellowship (perhaps two-and-a-half thanks to her falling asleep on watch).  In any case, she could only hope that too much time hadn't fled their grasp and the Fellowship was not now beyond reach.  

*     *     *     *     *

            It was sometime in the early hours of the fourth or fifth day, when the sun had long dispelled the mountains' shadows, that a scream shattered the serene dawn and caused Pippin and Apryl to jerk awake from a restless sleep and Merry to rise with sword drawn.  

            The three had settled down early that day, before even the sky had paled, for the path they had taken that night dropped them, literally, right into a swamp.  By the time they had managed from the diseased waters, not a cloth on their skin was dry and not one of them escaped unscathed.  It had been a miserable night and all any of them had wanted was to sleep and let their dreams take them away.  Only Pippin and Apryl got their wish, however, as Merry sat huddled upon the ground.  It was a short-lived relief though, for they had barely rested their eyes when death itself woke them.

            It was an unholy scream that rent the air, indeed it did not seem to be a noise made possible by any living creature.  But there was pain in the cry, and fear, and the undead do not feel such things.

            "What was that?" Pippin hissed, reaching across his pack and drawing his own sword.  None of the others made a noise, but instead sought the answer upon the rolling land about them.  They could see nothing, for all about them hung a dreary haze.  

            "Orcs?" Apryl whispered finally, when several moments had passed and no other sounds followed.  Slowly, Merry lowered his sword.

            "I know not," he said, finally.  "It certainly was unlike anything I--"

            Again, the scream climbed to the heavens, cutting off all other sounds, including those issuing from Merry's throat.

            "Where is it coming from?" Pippin demanded desperately, holding his blade in a white-knuckled grip, and looking about wildly.  "I see nothing!"

            "Over there," Merry pointed with his own sword.  "Beyond that crest.  It could come from no other place."

            Even as he spoke, voices lifted beyond the rise where Merry's blade was aimed, but they were unlike the earlier scream, for words could be discerned, though they were not of the Common Tongue.  Merry looked at his companions.  

            "Elves?" Pippin voiced his cousin's thoughts.  As soon as he spoke, another scream carried to the three as of before, though this time it gurgled down into a speech the hobbits and girl _could_ understand.

            "Don't touch!" something wailed.  "Don't hurt!  Not bad, not bad!"  And over the crest something hobbit-sized ran, flying across the uneven ground at seemingly an impossible pace, heading straight for the small company.  Close behind, two elves followed, one stopping short at the last, an arrow notched in his bow, and the other falling wide to give his companion a clear shot.

            "Hullo?!" Pip cried out, nearly dropping his own weapon.  "Is that a hobbit?  Hoy!" he called to the elves, "Stop right there!" and ran out beyond the three's small circle.

            "Pip, wait!"  Merry made a grab for his cousin but missed by a good inch or more.  Pippin heeded him not.  "Foolish Took!" Merry cursed and ran after Pip, and Apryl followed close, wondering at Pippin's actions.

            The elf with the bow hesitated, called out something to his companion which in turn caused his fellow to stop and peer curiously at the approaching hobbits and girl.  The small hobbit-like creature paid the elves no mind but, spying Pippin drawing near, gave a shriek of terror and threw itself to the ground, where it lay there shivering.

            Pippin slowed his pace, came upon the small thing so as not to frighten it and Merry and Apryl came up behind him, but held back hesitantly.  He peered back at his companions and Apryl looked down at the small huddled form.  It reminded her of someone . . . .

            Pippin turned back to it.  "Hullo, there," he began hesitantly, "Are you alright?"  He took a step closer.

            "Hobbits!" one of the elves called out.  "Are you those of the House of Elrond in Rivendell.  Those who left four days ago with the Lady Atira?"

            Merry glanced up sharply, stared hard at the elves, which were now walking over and realized suddenly that he recognized them.  "Apryl, isn't that--?" 

            But Apryl was paying the elves very little mind.  It was the creature that fascinated her.  It looked almost like a hobbit but of a very wretched sort.  Or perhaps it was an orc.  Apryl had never seen one of the nightmarish creatures and didn't know what to make of it.  Then, she recalled someone whom she hadn't given a thought to since her arrival and the very idea that that creature could have slipped her mind was inexcusable.__

"Pippin!" Apryl suddenly cried, for to her horror the young hobbit was reaching out to the huddled, shaking form.  "Don't!  It's--!" and she made a lunge for him, grabbed him by the arm to pull him back.

            Pippin turned on her, both surprised and angered, for all he cared to do was see how this poor wretch faired and Apryl was clutching at him.  He opened his mouth to demand what she was about but the words were not forthcoming, for instead they dissolving into a pain-filled scream.  

            Horrified, the hobbit turned to find that the creature had latched onto and then bit down upon his arm.  Its eyes were alive with a dangerous and gleeful light.

            Merry cried out and raised up his sword, as if to cut it down and indeed he would have had not the creature released it's hold on Pippin and bounded out of the way.  

            "--Sméagol!" Apryl gasped, her eye's wide.

            The creature stopped then, looked at Apryl curiously and cocked its head to the side causing stringy, black hair to brush against thin, hunched shoulders.  It's dark eyes flicked toward the elves and, seeing them run over, it hissed and scurried toward Apryl, who gave a yelp and unintentionally took a more secure position behind Pippin and Merry.

            "Stay back," Merry cried, seeing the creature's decent upon his friend and slashing his sword at it.  It pulled back, hissed threateningly at the hobbit, and turned to flee but was hindered in its escape as the elves came then.  Seeing this, it immediately fell to the ground.

            "Not orc, not bad!" the creature whined, miserably.  Its words came out in hardly an intelligible rasp, as though from lack of use.  "Not bad, not bad!  Mite good.  Not hurt Mite!" it pleaded, pushing backwards along the ground, away from the tall fair folk.  

            One of the elves shook his head and looked at the moaning creature in disgust.  Still, Merry held his sword before him whereas Pippin, having dropped his, held his bleeding arm to his chest and watched the creature in a mixture fear and, perhaps one could have said, pity.  

            Apryl, on the other hand, was horrified.  Not so much at the creature itself, but at the way it groveled before the elves and how much it seemed to fear them.

            One of the elves drew a thin, well-crafted sword and lowered it just above the creature's head.  Apryl looked up at him.  "You're not going to kill him?"  She did not think he would but still . . . .  

            The elf shook his head.  "No," he said, though it looked to Apryl as if he wanted to.  "Elrohir," he spoke to his fellow.  "Fetch me some rope so that we may bind it."

            "I thought so," Merry said, as Elrohir turned to do his companion's biding.  He disappeared beyond the crest.

            The elf looked down at the halfling.  "Thought what, wee one?"

            "You are Elladan, son of Elrond," Merry said, "And that is your brother, Elrohir."

            The elf nodded.  "Indeed it is."

            Apryl sidled away from the tall elf, moved behind Merry who had once again uplifted his sword.  Pippin bent to retrieve his own blade but held it awkwardly with his injured arm.

            "What is this?" the elf wondered, his eyes widening in surprise.

            "You've been following us," Pippin accused.

            The elf nodded.  "Yes, but only because--"

            "We won't go back," Apryl said, her clear, high voice cutting through the morning chill.  

            "I am afraid my father, Master Elrond, sent my brother and I to fetch you."

            "We are not going back," Pippin repeated.  Merry eyed them defiantly, daring either one to try and force them.  "We may be small, but we can hold are own," Pippin said, saying aloud what Merry held within his gaze to be true.

            "We did not come for you," Elrohir said, coming up from behind his brother, leading two horses, either burdened with a pack.  "Only the Lady."

            Merry and Pippin glanced at each other, then at Apryl.  "Me?" she asked, incredulous, and before she could stop herself, "Why?"

            "Because Mithrandir advised it," Elrohir put in.  He looked uncomfortable, as though he felt he had no right speaking to this very small child as he was.

            "Gandalf?" Apryl said, both surprised and angered to hear the wizard was making this more complicated than it ought.  _That old coot, _she thought in frustration, _he can jump off a bridge for all I care.  I'm _not_ leaving Merry and Pippin.  Not now._

"And what?" she demanded.  "Leave my friends?" she gestured at the hobbits.  She shook her head.  "I'll not do it."

            Elladan took the rope from his brother.  "They may do as they please," he said, binding the creature's hands and then feet together.  It made no protests, other than to moan and wail occasionally.  "They did come this far after all."

            "Yes," Pippin said, angered at being talked about as though he was not there.  "And with Apryl's help at that.  She's not going anywhere but south, with us."

            "I'm afraid not, little one," Elladan said, and he truly looked sorry.  "Lady Atira _must _return to Rivendell, that our father has made clear.  I would advice you and your friend to do the same.  However, I will not force you.  You may go where you please, though by following the Fellowship you may in fact only hinder, not help as you intend."  He looked over at Apryl, who was now behind either hobbit, and gazed at her almost pleadingly.  

            "Come, my lady.  We elves are not keen on violence but this matter I deem is of more importance than I understand and I will not fail in my father's trust.  Will you come with us willingly?  Or," he touched his sword hilt, "Must we resort to a more human way?"

            Apryl knew that there was no way Merry and Pippin could better these elves with swords, for though the halflings talked big she knew steel was mightier than the tongue.  She would not have them hurt Merry or Pippin and though it went against all she felt was right; perhaps this was for the greater good.  Perhaps Master Elrond was right in not letting her come and now that she had gotten the hobbits going in the right direction, maybe they could correct the error she had made.  

            At least, Apryl hoped.  Oh, how she hoped.

            "Very well," she said, raising her chin and looking at the elf lord defiantly.  "I will go with you."

            Pippin fairly dropped his sword again.  "W-what?  But--No!"

            "Apryl," Merry began, and Apryl was grieved to see that his eyes were saddened.  "You cannot go.  I thought we . . . What about Cousin Frodo?"

            Apryl shook her head.  "Frodo does not need me.  He needs you and Pippin.  Besides, it looks like I have little choice in the matter."  She glanced sideways at the elves.

            "You most certainly have a choice," Pippin said angrily.  "This is a free land after all.  I thought only Sauron wished otherwise," and here he glared at the elves.  Elrohir avoided the halfling's gaze and instead busied himself with his pack.  Elladan, however, merely looked down at the hobbit.

            "I can understand your misgivings, Master Hobbit," he told them, though there was an edge to his voice.  What Pippin said hit too close to home, for he indeed felt this was against all his father had ever taught him.  People had the right of freedom.  All people, whether they were burdened with darkness or knew the light of day.  "But Lady Atira must return to Rivendell with us.  It is for the best."

            Pippin snorted.  "Indeed?"

            Apryl laid a hand on the hobbit's shoulder.  "Do not worry for me, Peregrin Took," she said.  "All you need worry about is finding your Cousin Frodo and sticking to his side." 

            Pippin frowned.  "You agree to this?"

            Apryl smiled fondly at him.  "Not entirely," she said truthfully, "but I have already given my word.  I will go with them."

            Pippin bit his lower lip and after a moment's thought, spoke quietly.  "I, too, have given my word," he whispered.

            Apryl's smile faded, as she realized what he meant.  "Silly hobbit," she sighed.  "It was only a silly promise.  I do not take it to heart."

            Pippin shook his head.  "No," he said firmly, "It wasn't.  I mean to keep it.  Even if I failed once in your trust I will not do so again."

            Apryl looked hard at him.  "You did not fail me, Pip," she told him firmly, "and I no longer hold you to your promise."  He made as if to protest, but she hugged him and his words became lost.  "All must walk alone sometimes," she whispered in his ear.  "Perhaps I am destined to do so longer than most."  She pulled back, looked him in the eyes.  "I do not mind it," she assured him, and smiled.

            Pippin would not be lightened by her words.  "I know you speak false," he told her, "but I can see you will not change your mind.  And . . . and," he looked at Merry, as though his cousin would understand his meaning.  Merry did.

            The elder hobbit stepped forward and smiled at Apryl, though it was weak and held little humor.  "And though Pippin would go with you," he finished for his cousin, "he does not want to leave our dear Frodo in the hands of some blundering Big Folk."

            Apryl shook her head firmly, caught their gaze and looked at them hard.  "I released you from one promise, Peregrin Took, but I now hold you to another.  Promise me," she said, "both of you promise me that when you find the Fellowship you will not let Frodo from your sight no matter the cause."  She hesitated, then, but said finally:  "Except when Eru wills it . . . when naught will keep you together."  

            Apryl's jaw clenched and her gaze became almost lost and either hobbit could tell that she thought long and hard upon something.  "For the time will come," she said finally, reluctantly, "That you will not be able to help Frodo."

*****

And so things continue to go ill for Apryl and worse yet for the Fellowship.


	35. Whispering Winds

Disclaimer:  Middle-earth and all of its inhabitants (including himself) belong to Tolkien and no other.

A/N:  Sorry, you guys, for taking so long to post.  Life's been hectic lately and I'm doing all I can just to keep up.  Hope you haven't lost complete interest, for here is the time that many of you have been waiting for—our dear hobbit is back!

Chapter 35

WHISPERING WINDS

            The rain fell as it often had over the last couple of days and Frodo huddled deeper within his cloak wishing above ought else that he might be back in Rivendell, among the Elves and with his uncle.  Already, he tired of this journey and oftimes found his thoughts drifting even beyond Elrond's House to the quiet, peaceful recesses of the Shire.  

            How he missed his home!  Those uneventful nights at Bag End when he sat before the hearth reading or smoking a nice bit of Old Toby.  He recalled those evenings quicker and more readily than those spent at the local pub, for, though he enjoyed the company of his drunken fellows as any hobbit does, he couldn't help the fact that he seemed better suited to a darkened room lit only by the soft, flickering glow of the fire.

            Frodo sighed and watched the white mist of his breath dance before his nose, laughingly teasing him before becoming dispelled upon the bitter wind.  That distraction alone made him forget his footing and he caught a hairy foot upon a jagged stone, which seemed not at all inclined to release him.  With a yelp, Frodo fell to his knees.

            From up ahead, Gandalf turned and, seeing the fallen hobbit, paused.  The Company had not stopped yet this day and the sun was well into its decent (though hidden behind dark clouds).  Even as Sam released Bill to run to his master and Glorfindel bent to take the pony's reins, the wizard was well aware of Aragorn's gaze.  The Man did not agree with this pace and had already argued against it.

            "Treks like this are uncommon for the hobbits.  Already they weary beyond need and should they expire what must we do except carry them?  A needless delay in itself.  Let us find shelter, at least for a time."

            Gandalf saw that what Aragorn said was true.  Sam was taking it far better than Frodo, the wizard noted; either that or he was better at hiding his discomfort.  Though the Ring-bearer spoke not a word of complaint it was plain to all that he was having a difficult time keeping pace with the Big Folk's long strides.  

The wind was ever a factor, for it hammered at the Company, though, it seemed particularly fond of Frodo, and if that was because he was the smallest and his girth (or lack thereof) made him for easier sport than the others or because of something else altogether (as the Elves, and now Gandalf, suspected) none could rightly say.  At one time, Gimli had taken a protective stance beside the hobbit, hoping to free the wee halfling from most the blast and had succeeded in doing so--before the wind wised up to this and its course eerily changed and came not from one direction but all four.  

            Then the rains had come and the misery of the Nine Walkers had been sealed.

            Gimli bent stiffly and aided the fallen hobbit to his feet even as Sam dashed over.  Gandalf broke away and turned to Aragorn.  He gave a nod and spoke gruffly:  "We will rest."

            The company found a small nook that shielded them from the wind and rain and there they holed up for a time.  The hobbits were greatly relieved for this small respite and the dwarf, too, though he would not have admitted it.  The Elves sat apart from the others, talking amongst themselves in their own tongue.  Boromir did not at first seat himself nor did he intend to, but as Aragorn made his way to the proud Man and spoke softly with him, eventually he rested, though a bit stiffly.  

            Aragorn turned to Gandalf, who had not yet deemed it time to take ease, and his piercing eyes sought all that was yet before them.  "Come and rest, friend," Aragorn said, approaching the wizard from behind.  Gandalf mumbled something deep within his throat, though what it was it is not told, and he turned to the Ranger, his gaze hard.

            "What is it, Gandalf?" Aragorn asked, concerned.

            "We are not alone here," the wizard replied, his gaze falling once again to the fore.  "Though I know not what hunts us--hunts us, it does.  A thing of evil.  A thing of Sauron."

            "So soon?"

            Gandalf turned back to Aragorn.  "Do not underestimate the power of the Dark Lord.  He is ancient, more so than many things living in this world today, and he intelligent.  With such strength and power, we may well find ourselves fighting a loosing battle."

            Aragorn frowned.  "Are we so without hope, Gandalf.  Do you have so little faith in us?  The battle has not yet even begun and already you say we are doomed?"

            Gandalf closed his eyes, as if some sight pained him and he wished to banish it.  "The battle has not begun, Aragorn?" he rasped, his words barely audible.  "The battle has not begun, you say?  Perhaps not.  But the war has."

            Frodo watched Aragorn and Gandalf and though he could not make out a single word of their exchange, he was fairly confident that is was not good.  Nothing of late seemed to be for the better.  

            The Fellowship was being out-weighed with sorrow.  The Elves in particular were quiet and not at all their usual cheerful selves.  Glorfindel would not speak more than a few words at a time and always his eyes were to the heavens.  Morgainne was ill-tempered and oftentimes moody.  Frodo, who had heard of their friendship from Legolas, could only surmise that it was because of Apryl.

            Ever since his "errand" he had wondered at her significance.  By the Elves' eyes alone Frodo could tell that she was loved greatly and only from a short time of knowing her he thought that he understand why, if for only one reason.  

She was quiet, soft but also very full of life.  It radiated about her and it seemed one could thrive off her laughter alone.  Frodo was intrigued but never got up the nerve to ask Gandalf who she truly was.

            _Now I don't suppose I'll ever have the chance, _Frodo thought sadly.  The subject was a sore one with the wizard, this the hobbit knew.  Not because he had broached it, nor had anyone else, but merely because Frodo had known Gandalf ever since he could remember and some things were as plain to him of the old man as the sky was blue and the field green.

            It was not just sorrow that resided within the Fellowship, but disdain for those of a different kind.  Gimli would not speak to the Elves except in his own tongue and Frodo had the feeling it wasn't complimentary.  Neither would the dwarf pay them much mind.  Mostly, Gimli chose to ignore Legolas, Glorfindel, and Morgainne and the hobbit suspected that was much better than them taking to insults and bickering.  Gandalf would not contend with that and, certainly, the Fellowship could not fight amongst themselves, not with the responsibility all of them had shouldered.

            Frodo huddled more securely within his cloak.  But of all the troubles of the Elves and dwarf and troubles, too, that he had only begun to note (mainly of the Man of Gondor and Aragorn), Frodo was concerned above ought else with his cousins who he had been forced to leave with in Rivendell.  

Frodo shivered.  He did not want to be here.  He wished he were home, with Sam and Merry and foolish little Peregrin.

            "Perhaps Mr. Gandalf will let us build a fire," Sam suggested hopefully, spying his master's shiver and causing Frodo to start.

            He looked at Sam.  "What was that?"

            "A fire, Mr. Frodo.  It's sure be nice if we might banish this chill for a time with a fire and perhaps some hot food."  

            Frodo shook his head.  "I wouldn't count on it, Sam."

            "Your probably right," Sam agreed.  "The rain'd put it out any how, more like than not.  And I don't suppose we ought to pester him nohow.  He and Strider seem to be speaking about something important."  Sam peered over at the wizard and the Ranger.  "And disagreeing on it, too, by the looks of it."

            Frodo nodded but instead of following Sam's gaze, he closed his eyes in hopes that sleep would find him and take him away.

            "I am afraid . . . Where are we? . . ."

            The voice was oddly familiar but Frodo could not immediately place it.  Everywhere was darkness, full of shadows . . . full of death.  He did not like this place.

            "I wish I could see you . . ."  Again, the voice came to him, though it was faint and far away.  He had heard those words before in place much like this one, though in a time seemingly forever ago and with a girl who no longer lived.

            "Apryl?" he called hesitantly, though in the back of his mind he thought:  _Surely not.  I must be dreaming._

            "Hullo, Frodo," and this time the voice came strong and near, knowing and kind.

            "Apryl, is that you?"  Frodo looked around but still he could not see no one.  "But how?  I thought--you died."

"This world of yours is strange to me, Frodo," she said, in amusement, though there was a touch of desperation in her tone evident to the hobbit's sharp hearing.  "Even more so than I had thought.  Elves and Dwarves and Men live together.  Hobbits are not just a printed name in a book.  And the dead come back to walk among the living."  

Suddenly, Apryl was before him and she looked how he remembered her . . . except . . . she was different somehow . . .

            "I am dreaming," he gasped, voicing his earlier thoughts.  

            "Yes," she said, with a soft smile, "We both are."

            Frodo frowned, confused and, at the same time, disappointed.  "Then . . ." he asked hesitantly, "You are not alive?"  He took a step forward but in the eternal darkness he seemed not to move.  He was no closer to her than he had been.

            "Oh, I am alive," she reassured him.  "Just as you are."

            "But . . . how?" Frodo asked, not knowing what else to say.  "Apryl, I _saw_ you."  

            Her eyes dimmed.  "I do not know.  I was hoping to ask Gandalf, but . . ." she sighed and her eyes became lost and unfocused.  "Meriadoc, Peregrin, and I set out to find you . . . but . . . the Elves, they took me and now their all alone and I can do nothing--"

            "Here?  You and Merry and Pip?"  Frodo could not believe this.  It was all a silly, little dream.  It meant nothing.  Merry and Pippin were back in Rivendell, safe with the Elves and . . . and Apryl was dead.

            "Things are not as they should be, Frodo," her voice became faint.  "It's all a big mistake.  Merry and Pippin were suppose to go with you and Morgainne and Glorfindel were suppose to remain behind."  Her eyes were wide, almost desperate, but still looking at things Frodo could not see.  "Everything's messed up and its all my fault."

            The hobbit could only stare at her, realizing suddenly that she was fading away—her voice, her body, her mind.  "Apryl?  Apryl, what are you talking about?  What do you mean, Things are not as they should be?"

            Apryl blinked and her gaze cleared.  She looked at Frodo and tears came suddenly to her eyes and she said:  "You are all alone.  I had wanted to be there with you, to help you but its all gone wrong.  Everything has gone terribly wrong."

            The child closed her eyes and was gone.

            "Apryl?"  Frodo stepped forward but again could not tell if he gained any ground.  Everywhere was darkness.  "Apryl!"

            ". . . Frodo."  The name came to him faintly and from all around.  ". . . Frodo?"

            "Apryl?" he tried quietly.

            "Mr. Frodo!"

            Samwise was shaking Frodo by the shoulder and his master moaned, though what he said Sam could not tell.  "Mr. Gandalf says its time to go.  Come on, Mr. Frodo, wake up."

            Frodo blinked and looked around.  Sam crouched over him protectively and when he saw his master's eyes opened his brow furrowed slightly at his bewildered, almost lost look he held within his sapphire orbs.  "Are you alright, Mr. Frodo?"

            "Sam?"  Frodo looked around and saw all the Fellowship rising wearily to their feet, packs being shouldered.  

            "Yes, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, worriedly, not liking the haunted look in his master's eyes at all.  " 'Tis me.  Is something the matter?"

            "Matter?" Frodo blinked, turned to Sam.  "I--no, Sam, nothing's the matter.  It was a dream.  Only a silly dream."

            Sam reached over and grabbed Frodo's pack and handed it to its owner.  "There you are.  Best hurry, Mr. Frodo, Mr. Gandalf seems awfully anxious and I don't reckon that's at all a good thing."

            Frodo allowed Sam to help him to his feet.  "No, your probably right, Sam.  Let's go, then."  

            As the two stumbled after the others, a bitter gust came from the south and ripped through the Fellowship with gleeful intent but was dispelled at the last by a crosswind. It was unusually warm and uplifting for winter and when it whipped through Frodo's cloak, tearing its hood from his head, the hobbit stopped suddenly and turned.

            Sam, seeing this, asked:  "What is it, Mr. Frodo?" 

            "Did you hear that, Sam?" he asked, never taking his eyes from the north.

            Sam frowned and stood still, his ears strained for the slightest of sounds.  After a moment, he shook his head.  "I can't hear anything."

            "It sounded like a voice . . ."  Frodo stopped.  He turned back around and continued after the Fellowship.  "It was nothing, Sam.  Come along."  Sam stood there for a moment longer, watching his master curiously, until Frodo glanced over his shoulder.  He hurried to catch up.

            "Do you ever hear voices, Sam?" Frodo asked suddenly.

            Samwise didn't answer right away.  After a moment, he said finally:  "Sometimes I think I do.  Like the trees.  Sometimes I'm certain that they're talking to eachother in a tongue I don't understand, but their still talking and I can still hear 'em."  He looked at Frodo, his face slightly flushed from embarrassment.  "Why do you ask, Mr. Frodo?"

            Frodo said, "No reason," and, quickening his pace, he outdistanced Sam almost immediately.  The gardener let his master go, for when Frodo got in his moods there was few people who could get him out of them.  Only Mr. Bilbo and sometimes Gandalf.  Sam suspected that that was who Frodo sought and after a time he saw his assumption was correct, for as Frodo reached the old wizard he gave Gandalf's gray robes the slightest of tugs.

Both hobbit and wizard were soon immersed in a conversation that Sam was slightly curious about but accepted he had no business being apart.  At least, not this time.  He was too tired, besides. 


	36. To Take Her Back

Disclaimer:  I don't own anyone here…they all belong to Tolkien…well, except for Apryl and Morgainne, they're mine.

A/N:  Alright, yeah, I'm waiting for the rocks to start flying.  Seven months since my last post, sheesh.  Well, let's see who even remembers what this story is about.  I don't plan on letting this tale hang for that long again…the only excuse I can give you guys for before was I was starting a new life for myself and that sort of thing takes time.  I hope you don't hate me too much.

Chapter 36

TO TAKE HER BACK

            Apryl woke with a gasp, her eyes very wide and staring as she looked up into the heavens above.  She lay there for a long time, very still, and hardly daring to breathe.  

            She had dreamt of someone . . . someone she could not recall to mind, for the dream was already fading from her grasp.  Lying there for many long minutes, Apryl strived to remember what was already gone from memory.  Eventually, her thoughts drifted and sleep once again claimed her.  

            A soft, warm breeze--one that was rather peculiar for early winter--ruffled her hair and she sighed softly.  In her sleep, amongst whatever journey her heart saw fit, Apryl murmured softly a name and the wind took it and carried it South.

*     *     *     *     *

            "A voice, you say?"

            Frodo nodded.  "Yes, Gandalf, on the wind.  It sounded like--"  The hobbit stopped.

            The wizard peered down at the perplexed hobbit, his gaze sharp and piercing.  "Yes?" he urged.

            Frodo hesitated.  "Gandalf," he managed finally.  "Is it possible for one to come back from the dead?  What I mean is," he continued hurriedly, seeing Gandalf's brows rise in alarm.  "What I mean is . . . well, I had this dream.  I--I don't know how to describe it, but I dreamt that Apryl was alive."

            "Apryl?" Gandalf said sharply.  "_Apryl_?"

            "I--I mean . . . ah," Frodo gulped, taken aback by the vehemence in the old man's voice.  Gandalf's eyes flashed dangerously.

            "Atira," he hissed.  "Her name--it is Atira."  He looked down at the hobbit and immediately his eyes softened, the anger vanished.  "You dreamt of her, you say?  When?"

            It took a moment for Frodo to collect himself but when he did, his voice was confident, if a bit soft.  "Not so long ago.  I must have fallen asleep on our rest.  It was then I dreamt of her."

            Gandalf looked off into the distance, his eyes shadowed, and he was quiet for a time.  Finally, he spoke:  "What did she say?"

            Frodo frowned in concentration.  "She said, that everything had gone wrong, nothing was as it should be.  Also, her and Merry and Pip were following us."

            Gandalf stopped and turned, looking to the north.  Aragorn, several yards behind, saw this and asked:  "Is everything alright, Gandalf?  Would you like that I send one of the Elves out?"

            Gandalf shook his head.  "No, Aragorn, it is nothing."  He turned and resumed his measured pace.  Frodo was watching him curiously.  After a time, he said finally:

            "But it was only a dream."  His voice came weakly and was not at all confident this time.  "Wasn't it?"

            The wizard did not immediately reply and when he did, he answered as only great wizards do--with a question of his own.  "This voice you heard on the wind, Frodo, whose was it?"

            The hobbit's eyes lowered, as if he had done something wrong and had been caught in the act.  "Apryl's," he said softly.

            "She's been sent back," the wizard whispered, but he would say no more.

            The Fellowship came to rest early that evening, as Gandalf had become distracted by some unknown thing that he refused to speak about and of which Frodo would say nothing.  No one was overly concerned about this as most were just glad for the break, their earlier one having been clipped so short by the moody wizard.

            Each and every one of them moved off to their own little corners of the clearing, all save Aragorn and Sam who took it upon themselves to fix the evening meal.  Gandalf had permitted a small fire, enough so that they could have a warm meal and only so long as Aragorn made certain that it gave off no smoke.  As Sam and the Ranger began meal preparations, the rest of the Fellowship moved off to be by themselves as they so chose.  

            Gandalf seated himself upon a rock, his face was dark as he smoked upon his pipe and stared off at nothing at all.  Boromir found himself a nice log where he seated himself and began to clean his gear.  Gimli sat at the edge of the clearing, dubbing himself watch as he sharpened his already sharp battle-ax.  Frodo, feeling very alone after his talk with Gandalf, wandered over to Sam and Aragorn and offered to help with the meal.  The Elves sat together at the far edge of the clearing, exactly opposite and as far away as they could get of the Dwarf.

            Morgainne sat against a tree trunk, her back to all save Glorfindel and Legolas.  She watched them for a time, trying to keep her mind off things.  Her heart was heavy and the sorrow and grief that had plagued her since Rivendell was starting to make her physically ill.  She needed to get her mind on something else--something that had naught to do with her best friend's death.

            She looked to her two Elf companions for this distraction but saw almost immediately that this was hopeless.  Glorfindel had his chin on drawn-up knees and stared off into space, his mind millions of miles away.  Legolas was tossing a rock from hand to hand then, dropping it, he stared at it in fascination.  With a sigh of disgust, Morgainne got to her feet and made her way to Gandalf, who was seated upon a rock.

            "Mithrandir," Morgainne hissed quietly, as not to draw attention to herself from any other save the wizard.  He glanced at her, and then his gaze fell back away to the north.  "Mithrandir, I, uh . . ." she hesitated and looked around until her gaze fell on their meager fire and the small halfling that was trying to coax some life into it.  "Our wood supply is low . . . might I go and find some more?"  It was weak but perhaps Gandalf would understand . . . 

            The wizard eyed Morgainne thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded.  "Stay close," was all he said, before returning his attention to thoughts that were beyond the she-Elf.  With a grateful nod, Morgainne disappeared within the surrounding wood.

*     *     *     *     *

            Peregrin Took collapsed in exhaustion upon a small rocky hill.  He stared after his cousin as he continued on, his gray eyes glinting with Hobbit stubbornness.  "I'm tired," he said finally, as Merry did not seem to notice he was now alone. 

            The elder Hobbit paused and turned, regarding Pippin silently for a moment before following suit and succumbing to his own weariness.  Such treks were not made for Hobbits and Merry was beginning to realize this.  The beginnings of any roundness that had begun to show since his late tweens had already begun to diminish since setting out from the Shire.  He gazed down at his shrinking belly mournfully and thought of what he would have given for a nice hot Hobbit-sized meal at Brandy Hall.

            "How much farther, do you suppose?" Pippin asked.

            Merry shook his head, fighting for enough breath to speak.  Once it finally came, he gasped out weakly, "I thought . . . we would have caught them . . . by now . . ."

            Pippin was silent a moment, then he pulled off his pack.  "Let's rest a while," he said and glanced at Merry.  "You look like you need to."

            "Me?" Merry said, indignant.  "You're the one who called this halt."

            "Yes, well . . ." Pippin began, then seeing the look on Merry's face:  "Oh, Cousin, I am as tired as you are.  We've hardly stopped since they took her and a lot of good we will do Frodo if we stumble into their camp dead-tired."

            Merry sighed and nodded.  "You are right, of course.  I was only hoping to find Gandalf and straighten this mess out in time to stop it.  They shouldn't have taken her."

            Pippin's face darkened.  "I know."  He busied himself with rummaging around in his pack.  He pulled out the last of the food he had pinched from Elrond's House and munched on it with little appetite.  

            He hoped they would find the Fellowship soon.  He was very worried about Cousin Frodo and rather upset with him that he had went off without a word in the first place.  Pippin would have to speak to Frodo about that.

            "It is almost night," Merry said.  "Maybe we shouldn't rest for very long."

            Pippin sighed and looked severely at his cousin.  "I am _tired_, Merry.  I don't want to walk anymore.  At least not for a while.  Can't you just sit still for once?"

            Merry chuckled.  "You sound like me, Pip."

            Pippin shook his head.  "I know.  Dreadful."

            Merry got slowly to his feet.  "Come on."

            "Mer-_ry_," Peregrin snapped, frustrated.  "Sit _down_."

            "No, Pip, you get up.  It's time to find Frodo."

            "Do you want to carry me?" Pippin demanded.  "For that's the only way you will get me to come.  I just can't, Cousin, I can't.  I've never been so tired in my life."

            Merry frowned down at his little cousin, slightly surprised at his admitting that he could not do something.  Rare was the case when Pippin would ever admit such, having it set into his stubborn little head that he could do anything, that he could best _anyone_ any time.  But Merry was not to be deterred.  He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he and Pippin were meant to be at their cousin's side right now and it was a horrible mistake that they weren't there already.

            "Pippin, please," Merry pleaded.  "Cousin Frodo needs us.  What if they are just beyond that rise?" he asked, pointing, and Pippin's gaze followed the gesture.  Sudden doubt sprang to his eyes and he bit his lower lip.  "What if we stop and wait and by doing such lose them?  Come on, Pip, we will only go a little longer and then we will rest.  I promise."

            Pippin heaved an enormous sigh and clamored wearily to his feet.  With difficulty, he shouldered his pack.  "Merry, you are a foul Hobbit, you know that," he said and stomped angrily away.

            Merry followed slowly after.

*     *     *     *     *

            Morgainne breathed a sigh of relief when the others were both beyond sight and sound.  She continued on deeper into the forest, finding no reason to pause or turn back but only wanting to get a way for a time where she could think alone and with no distractions.  She could hardly stand being with the group another minute, as with each person she looked upon she was reminded of something she disliked or could not face.         

            Glorfindel and Frodo were the hardest for her to look upon, for she knew how much Apryl had loved, in one lifetime or another, both of them and any thoughts of her lost friend sent a wave of bitterness through her heart.  She would _kill_ Sauron for what he had done to her.  The fact that he was a Maiar and beyond such things as death did little to dissuade Morgainne's ambition.  She would see him suffer.

            Others, such as the Dwarf and Man, held very little interest for Morgainne, other than to bring forth the truth of how her land was divided by racial fears and disdain.  She was mildly curious about the other Man, the Ranger, for he was kind with words though not so much in appearance.  But he also reminded her of Apryl . . . Of the night she had feasted with the Elves and tasted wine for the first time.  Morgainne had remained in the shadows, watching her friend eat and make merry with a people she had talked so often about.  Apryl's dream had come to be real and Morgainne could not have been happier for her.  

            In Gandalf's face, she could see the hurt of Apryl's death when he thought no one was watching.  It was something she understood, for she felt it in her soul.  The wizard had lost one very dear to him . . . for the Maia child had been sent back to the West from whence she had come.  Someday, perhaps Morgainne would follow her people and return there and find her friend . . . but it was a land she did not relish going to.  Her home was Middle-earth.

            Morgainne reached out and laid a delicate hand upon an old, gnarled tree.  She closed her eyes and breathed softly, listening.  How could she ever leave this place?  This land that she cherished so, loved even more after experiencing the world from whence Apryl came--No, Morgainne corrected herself, from the land she had been sent to.  Apryl was not of that time any more than Morgainne was.

            _So very odd_, she thought, opening her eyes and continuing on deeper into the forest.  _For her not to remember herself . . . for me not to know her true self.  _Apryl was her best friend, how could it be that she didn't know the true Apryl?  This Atira, which all the residents of Rivendell seemed to love so much?

            Perhaps at one time she might have come to know Atira, but that time was no more as her weak mortal body had passed away and her soul had flown home.  _I don't know if I can do it, Apryl, _she thought mournfully.  _I miss you so much . . . but my home is not in the West. _

Deep in thought and her mood darkening by the minute, Morgainne did not once look back nor did her footfalls falter.  Her graceful strides took her ever farther from the Fellowship.

*     *     *     *     *

            The two small Hobbits hadn't gone very far when Pippin stopped suddenly and made as if he was listening intently to something.

            "What is it?" Merry asked, coming up to join his cousin.

            Pippin did not at first respond.  He listened, his head tilted slightly to one side.  Finally:  "I thought I heard something."

            "Like what?"

            Pippin considered this.  "I don't know," he admitted finally, then shrugged.  "It was probably nothing."

            Pippin moved on and after a slight hesitation Merry followed.  They continued on in silence for several more paces when the younger Hobbit once again stopped.

            "There it is again," he hissed.  "Do you hear it?"

            Merry listened.  All about him he heard birds chirruping and an owl, somewhere in the distance, hooted.  A fox caused grass to rustle, and a squirrel chattered indignantly in the branches above.  But aside from the noises of any forest, Merry heard nothing out of the ordinary.  "What is it that you hear, Pip?" he asked finally.

            Pippin frowned.  "It sounds like--" he hesitated.  "Almost like footfalls."  His ears twitched slightly.  "Someone's coming this way!" he hissed and grabbed his cousin by the arm.  "Come on!"  The two of them scurried for the cover of a bush.  Kneeling in the dirt, Merry peered all around, still straining to hear what his cousin heard but having no success at it.  

            "There," Pippin whispered, pointed where he heard the noise, and at that moment both Hobbits watched as a tall figure broke away from the shadows of several trees.  It was a female Elf, very tall and slender, with long black hair and large emerald-green eyes.  She came forward cautiously, as if she had heard the Hobbit's whispers but wasn't all that certain what to make of them.

            "What is an Elf doing here?" Pippin mouthed, frowning darkly.  He had had enough Elves to last him a lifetime and was in no mood to run into any more.

            Merry wasn't looking at his cousin, though, for he had the odd feeling that he knew this Elf._ That is silly of course_, Merry chided himself.  _All Elves look alike . . . _But, still, he had the nagging suspicion that he had seen her before--

            Merry's eyes widened.  _Of course!  At Rivendell!  She is one of Lord Elrond's Elves.  He must have changed his mind and sent someone to retrieve us.  _Merry moved back deeper into the shadows of the bush, pulling his confused cousin with him.  

            "Lord Elrond," Merry mouthed and pointed.

            Pippin crinkled up his nose and frowned in confusion.

            Merry rolled his eyes.  "She's from Rivendell," Merry hissed in his ear.

            Morgainne jerked slightly at the noise but it was such a small movement that neither one of the Hobbits noticed.  She glanced out of the corner of her eye toward a large bush then continued on as if she had heard nothing.  She passed beyond its view then ducked behind a rather large tree.  

            Several minutes passed, then a small figure crawled out from beneath the bush, followed by another.  They looked around warily, then straightened and brushed of their clothes.  Morgainne watched this curiously, not at all certain what to make of it.        

            _Hobbits?_ she mused.  _What are Hobbits doing way out here in the middle of nowhere?_

            "That was close," said Pippin, breathing a sigh of relief.  "What do you suppose she wanted?"

            "Us, I would imagine," Merry said.  "I remember seeing her around Rivendell."

            Pippin screwed up his face, thinking.  "Oh, aye, I remember.  She was the one that came to me the days following Apryl's death-"

            "Hoy!" Merry cried, his eyes alighting with full recognition.  Pippin peered at his cousin curiously.  "Aye, the one that tried to soothe you.  Pip, that was Morgainne, Apryl's best friend."

            Pippin's eyes widened.  "The one that accompanied the Fellowship!"

            Morgainne snapped her fingers, the two curly-haired, round faces before her fading from the present to the past and back again.  "Meriadoc and Peregrin," she breathed.

            She stepped from the shadows of the trees, standing before the two halflings and they both gasped and turned toward her.  Morgainne watched them silently for a moment, curiously, her face darkening by the moment as she tried to piece together why on Middle-earth these two were here. 

            Finally, she spoke:

            "You are Frodo's cousins," and it was not a question.

            Pippin nodded dumbly, for her face suddenly came back to him from those nightmarish nights after Apryl's death and the beautiful she-elf had been like an angel sent to banish the shadows.

            "Yes," Merry said softly, suddenly feeling much like a naughty lad caught pinching pastries from the kitchen.

            "You've traipsed the wild," she continued, "following the Fellowship. . . ." and here she paused and raised a brow.  "At Lord Elrond's request?"

            Merry peered over at his cousin rather sheepish-like.  Pippin looked down at his feet.

            The Elf's frown deepened and she crossed delicate arms over slender chest.  "He does not know you are gone?"

            "He knows," Pippin mumbled.  "He just . . . ah, isn't too fond of the idea."

            "Why have you come?"

            Merry looked up them, finding the she-Elf's voice not so hard.  "Pippin is healed," he said and the Took nodded.

            "My burns," he said, scratching the back of his hand unconsciously.  "Apryl healed them."

            Morgainne's almond-shaped eyes widened a fraction of an inch.  "What are you saying?" she demanded.  

            Pippin broke out into a wide grin.  "She's alive," he said.  "She isn't dead at all," and here he giggled, "Nor a human anymore . . . She's a Hobbit!"

            Morgainne could only stare at him.

            "It is true, Lady Morgainne," Merry insisted.  "Apryl's alive and that is how we come to be here now."

            Pippin nodded.  "She was most insistent that we come.  It was a horrible mistake, besides, our dear Frodo leaving us behind like that.  We are not going to let him go off all alone, not with only Big Folk to protect him—uh, er, beg pardon, no offense intended," he added hastily.

            "She's alive?" Morgainne breathed and quiet tears of disbelief and joy were shed.

*     *     *     *     *

            "Do you think this is such a good idea?" Pippin asked, fairly running to keep up with the long-legged she-Elf.  "Won't Gandalf be upset?  After all, it was him that bade Elrond to keep Apryl from the Fellowship in the first place."

            "She is my friend," Morgainne said simply.  "I won't abandon her."

            Pippin seemed satisfied with this and contented himself with concentrating on keeping pace with the Elf.  At least, such lasted for several moments before he inquired:

            "Will we find them before Rivendell, do you suppose?"

            "If we keep the pace swift," she said curtly.  Then, her eyes found his and her face softened.  "I will carry you should you tire, young Peregrin."

            Pippin looked indignant.  "I'm not tired.  And I needn't be carried by a lady."

            Morgainne laughed.  "I am stronger than I look, halfling.  But should the need arise you would throw away pride for Apryl, would you not?"

            The hobbits eyes widened slightly, then he nodded.  "Yes."

            Morgainne nodded, satisfied.  "Then, yes, Peregrin, we will find them before Rivendell."  Several moments passed before she added:  "Elladan and Elrohir will not give her up easily."

            Pippin nodded but said lightly, "It is not us I worry about.  Merry is the one who has to tell Gandalf what we're up to.  I'd rather face two sword-wielding Elves any day to Gandalf when he's in a foul mood."

*****


	37. Mite

Disclaimer:  I claim none of this for my own.

A/N:  Aren't you proud of me?  See, I posted again.^^

Chapter 37

MITE

            Her words had been full of bravado when she had left her friends--speaking of upholding honor, and at the time perhaps she had meant them, though she was at a completely different mind now.  

            Two days, three unsuccessful escape attempts, a skinned knee, cut cheekbone, and who knew how many bruises later, Apryl was at her last and most desperate of hope.  Perhaps in the beginning, when Pippin returned her hug and Merry kissed her upon the brow, perhaps then had she truly thought herself returning to Rivendell and had been fully prepared to meet the angered Lord of the House.  But the ache had grown, the fear had intensified, and the longing had burdened her so, that as the days slipped away she became almost desperate to see a familiar face again, one that she could trust, but mostly one that she could smile and laugh and talk with.  

            Her first escape, considering she had never attempted such before in her life, hadn't gone half as bad as one would have thought.  The elves had been overly relaxed with her and overly protective of their other captive and so Apryl found an advantage.  

            It was the afternoon of the first day that the idea first struck her, for Elladan--the company having come to a rest upon a wide open plain, though rocky and drear--said not a word, made no indication whatsoever, but silently slipped away from the group and went beyond a rising crest far to their left.  At first, Apryl thought him scouting but then realized otherwise as he had left his horse in his brother's care and returned not a short while later.  And indeed, when Apryl walked beyond the circle at the elf lord's return, he did not try to stop her but let her go about her business, as all living creatures are subject to nature's call.  

            Once beyond sight, it was easy.  She simply did not return.  Had she stopped to think on her circumstance (as she later did that night and realized her stupidity) she would have probably turned around and rejoined herself with her newfound company.  For one human (not to mention one that appeared to be a hobbit and a female one at that, without weapon or pack, for she had left hers back with the elves) would not make it far, especially with who knew what lurking in the untamed lands of the east.  

            As it was, it mattered not, for though she ran more often than naught, before night fell Elladan caught up with her on his white mare and she was forced, on sword point, to return.  She did so, though ungraciously.

            Her second escape was attempted that night, in the cover of darkness (and with her pack) she pretended to fall asleep beyond the fire's light and when she saw the two brothers had closed their eyes and their breathing became even, she slipped away.  None saw her leave, or so she thought, save for the poor wretch of a creature.  It watched her disappear into the night and then its eyes flashed over to the sleeping Elves and regarded them for a moment before eyeing its own bounded legs and wrists.  It tested the bonds but it was a half-hearted attempt, for as the creature suspected, both the elves opened their eyes not a moment later and without a word (and bow in hand), the taller of the two was off.  Minutes passed and the elf returned with a small form slumped dejectedly over his shoulder.  Her hands were tied; her face was bitter.

            The third escape . . . well, if one could even term it as such, was altogether too simple a strategy and doomed to fail from the start.  But then, Apryl was getting irritated and the whole idea of holding someone against his or her will hadn't altogether clicked.  What right did they have to keep her _here _if she wanted to be _there_?  

            She kicked him--Elladan she thought (hoped, for she sort of liked Elrohir and couldn't have cared less if she busted Elladan's shin)--and ran.  That was her brilliant plan, brought on by the fact the two Elves had been discussing the Ring-bearer's quest and Elladan had been fool enough to voice his doubts about the two following halflings catching up with their fellow hobbit.  

            So she had kicked him. 

            At the immediate action, escape wasn't on her mind but the fact that immense anger bubbled in her chest.  It was _this_ idiot elf that was keeping her from the Merry and Pippin, Merry and Pippin from the Fellowship, and in turn perhaps dooming Middle-earth.  Or at the very least allowing Saruman to claim victory, for he would if Pippin and Merry did not meet Treebeard and rouse him and his fellow Entkin.  So she kicked him, and was satisfied in felling him.  

            His brother stared at her in amazement, then made as if to grab her.  She jumped from beyond his grasp, very nearly lost her balance and fell (her hands were tied, if you remember) but did not and picked up a rock with both hands and chucked it at the poor, unsuspecting Elf.  It took her less than a moment to realize what she had done and immediately she was horrified with herself.  But, too, she saw these Elven lords, twice again her height, one stunned, the other felled, and her anger abated at the rising of that one word:  _Escape!_

Apryl ran.

            She had not gotten far (for indeed a kick to the shin is not a terrible thing) before Elladan was upon her.  He was angry with her, that she could tell by his heated words and flaming eyes.  At first she was frightened, but when he did nothing more than set her upon the ground and bind her legs together, slowly the fear faded away.  He glared at her once or twice but aside from that would have no more dealings with her.

_            I don't think I'll ever like an elf again, _Apryl thought, glaring miserably at her Elven "escort."  

            She sat before Elladan upon his white mare, her back as stiff as a board, her eyes always cast to the fore.  She refused to look at either of them.  Even when Elrohir offered her a sip from his waterskin she would not catch his eye, and she had the odd feeling he wanted her to look at him.  For forgiveness, to gloat--she had no idea which, or if either was the case.  

            As it was however, aside from the occasional word in their own tongue, the Elves spoke very little and Apryl was left to her own thoughts and interests, which was just fine with her. 

            Oftentimes her mind wandered to the small creature leashed to Elrohir's mount, and the more she thought about it the less she suspected it to be Gollum.

            Apryl recalled the first time the creature had spoke:  _"Not orc, not bad!  Not bad, not bad!  Mite good.  Not hurt Mite!"_

_            Mite?  Obviously, the creatures name_, she decided.  _But what was it?  Not an orc, it had said.  Then what?_

It reminded Apryl of Gollum, though the creature, this _Mite_, walked upright (though with a limp as if it were in pain) whereas, of what Apryl had read, Gollum crawled about more often than not on all fours.  Apryl saw that its right leg looked to be wounded and wondered at the screams she had heard at dawn . . . how many nights ago?  It seemed like forever.  The creature's face was thin, as was its entire body, with lanky legs and arms with little or no meat on them.  Its hair was a tangled mass of greasy black curls that fell into large, luminous eyes.  They were black--that Apryl had seen when Mite had had its teeth imbedded in Pip's skin--pure black, like a murky pool of hatred and fear.  More often than she liked Apryl found them digging into her back and, from the corner of her eye, she would spy the small creature watching her with a curious, almost calculating gaze that made Apryl shiver.  

            In looks alone Mite reminded Apryl of Gollum, or at least what Apryl _thought _Gollum looked like from Tolkien's description of him.  She couldn't shake the similarity and wondered if perhaps this _was_ Smeagol . . . But why then had it said "_Mite _good.  Not hurt _Mite_"?  Why had it called itself Mite?  In all Apryl's recollection of Tolkien's words she could not once recall any creature, orc or otherwise, named Mite.

            Apryl peered back at the creature.  It trailed along sullenly behind Elrohir's mount, its hands bound together by Elven rope--

            Apryl blinked.  _Elven _rope?  Then certainly the creature was not Smeagol if the rope did not burn the creature.  A cool dread worked its way through Apryl's veins to converge and rest heavily upon her heart.  What _was_ this creature?  And why had Tolkien never mentioned such about it?  Was it just some nameless creature that in no way affected the outcome of Middle-earth and so did not deserve a place in the great novel?

            Apryl watched it carefully, her mind full of many more thoughts, all of which confused her more and did nothing to solve this odd mystery.  Finally, with no answers forthcoming, Apryl turned back around in her seat and decided she was getting worked up over nothing.  Mite was probably no more than some off-bread of an orc, some aimless pathetic thing that had gotten mixed up with Elves and was know doomed to a fate Apryl would rather not think about.  

            Finding this to be a satisfactory explanation for the unexplainable, Apryl turned back to her earlier thoughts of how much she did not like Elves.

            That night when they came to their evening rest, Elladan lifted his small charge from his horse and set her gently beneath a large tree.  He then turned aside and did his best to ignore her as he prepared a meal.

            Elrohir slid gracefully from his own mount and regarded the small, wretched creature tied to his horse.  He then turned to his brother and, in their own tongue, said, "I think I will untie it from Thônthil this night."  Mildly curious, Elladan glanced over.  "I hate to keep it near her so often," he continued and scratched his horse apologetically.  Thônthil snorted.

            Sitting dejectedly beneath the trees boughs, Apryl did not even consider the Elf's words.  She had gotten use to their unfamiliar language and, finding no way to understand it, merely ignored them.

            Elladan nodded.  "Secure it to a tree, then.  And make certain it is bound tightly.  I would bring this thing to Father and learn of why it was trailing the Fellowship.  He should like to question it."

            Elrohir went about unlashing and then rebinding the creature to a nearby tree.  It did not struggle nor fight in any way, but seemed oddly obedient as he dragged it over to a thin pine only several paces from where Apryl sat.  Checking the bindings, Elrohir nodded in satisfaction then rose to help in setting up camp.

            Apryl eyed the creature somewhat warily and frowned as she saw it looking at her.  They stared at one another for a moment and then suddenly and quite unexpectedly the creature smiled.  Sharp teeth glinted and Apryl cringed away in both uncertainty and fear.  It almost looked as if the creature grimaced, though this was not so, for there was an odd glint of glee in Mite's eyes and it was this more than anything that worried Apryl.

            "Nice Hobbit-girl know Smeagol, yes?" it hissed and Apryl blinked in startlement.  For many days the creature had said nothing, not since she had first come upon it, and Apryl had nearly forgot that it could speak at all.  "Hobbit-girl say Mite is Smeagol," Mite said eagerly.  "This mean Hobbit-girl knows Smeagol?  Knows where Mite can find Smeagol?"

            Apryl edged away slowly, barely comprehending the creature's rasping speech but not liking at all the glint in its eyes.

            "No, no," it moaned, seeing her back away.  "Mite is nice.  Mite is nice to pretty Hobbit-girl.  Mite ask only.  Mite not hurt, no, no, not ever hurt."

            "I--I don't know Smeagol," Apryl stammered, feeling sorry for its pathetic whining.  "I only thought--well, you _look_ like him . . ." she hesitated and then:  "I think."

            Suddenly, Mite's eyes narrowed and it hissed in malice.  "Yesss, look like Smeagol."  It gnashed its teeth together and clenched and unclenched claw-like fists.  "Poor, poor Mite look like Smeagol.  Nasty, _nasty_ Smeagol!" 

            "B-but you're not?" Apryl inquired weakly, frightened by the creature's sudden anger but curiosity about what and who it was outweighing any fear she had.

            "_No_!" Mite shrieked and Apryl fell back in surprise.  Across the small clearing, Elladan looked up from preparing a meal but, finding nothing amiss, went back to his work.  Of what Apryl could see, Elrohir was nowhere in sight.  "Mite not Smeagol!  Mite _hate _Smeagol!"

            "A-alright," Apryl said, trying to calm Mite down and reassure it that she did _not _think it was Smeagol any longer.  "Are you an orc, then?" she asked, hurriedly, hoping to distract it.

            Mite looked offended by this.  "Did Mite not say already?" it asked.  "Mite is not orc.  Orcs bad.  Mite is not bad."

            "Well, then . . ." Apryl frowned.  It was an odd thing, to discuss with somebody _what_ they were.  "What . . . ?"

            Mite's face brightened considerably and Apryl was taken aback by how "unorcish" this made the creature look.  "Mite like Hobbit-girl," it said matter-of-factly and sat up proudly.

            Apryl frowned, confused.  "Ah . . ." she began.  " 'Like Hobbit-girl'?  You mean . . . _you're _a Hobbit?"

            Mite nodded and a smile flashed across its face.  This time, though, it did not frighten Apryl, for it was genuine and almost pleasant in its own way.  _Pippin was right! _Apryl thought, incredulously, remembering him mistaking Mite for a Hobbit.

            "Mite is a Hobbit-girl, too."

            Apryl stopped, this last statement taking a moment to register.  Her eyes widened in disbelief.  "You mean . . ." she said, hardly able to finish her thought.  "Y-you're a . . . a _her_."

            __


End file.
